


Something Old, Something New

by MHammerman



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Triangles, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHammerman/pseuds/MHammerman
Summary: Kitty Pryde should be happy. For the first time in her life, she's almost got it all. She's the leader of the X-Men, and in less than a week, she's going to marry her first love, Peter Rasputin. Yet when Kurt Wagner stops by the Belles of Hell bar for some whiskey, dancing, and reminiscing, she starts to realize why she's not, and even wonder if she's marrying the wrong man. Focus on Kitty/Kurt with glimpses of Kitty/Peter and Kurt/Rachel.
Relationships: Kitty Pryde/Kurt Wagner
Comments: 218
Kudos: 23





	1. Belles of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first new X-Men fanfic in (gah!) 8 years! This story is a (hopefully!) imaginative re-write of events surrounding Kitty and Peter's wedding-that-wasn't. The most relevant comics issues are: X-Men: The Wedding Special (Kurt visiting Kitty at Belles of Hell; the bachelor and bachelorette parties); X-Men Gold #26 (more bachelor party); and X-Men Gold #30 (the rehearsal dinner; the wedding itself). But I've tried to provide enough context that even if you haven't read those issues (or don't remember them well), you should be just fine.
> 
> While this story is *mostly* set within existing comic book canon (with occasional snippets of dialogue from the comics themselves), there are a few tweaks. The biggest one is that I'm changing the sequence of events so that the bachelor party in Vegas happens *after* Peter gets abducted by Nance and Co. and nearly killed in outer space. I'm also putting the bar Belles of Hell in New York rather than Chicago, and having Kitty work there semi-regularly; this felt easier than explaining why the bar showed up all of a sudden after so many years. Also, in my storyworld, Kitty didn't date Star Lord. I like to think I'm reasonably creative, but trying to explain that relationship would be a lot for me. Let's not and say we did, hm? And of course—don't worry too much about timelines. Of necessity, they're as ambiguous here as they are in the comics. But I'm definitely not proposing anything age-inappropriate between Kitty and Kurt; they're both responsible adults when they realize their feelings. This story was originally rated "T," but has now been upgraded to "M" (for loving and consensual sexual content in the final chapter).
> 
> The last thing: because this story is about unexpected desires spoiling a wedding, there is some (fairly mild and mostly emotional) infidelity involved. While I hope I've handled these issues with the requisite sensitivity (I tried not to vilify anyone), I know stories that include infidelity in any capacity can be a trigger for some. No other trigger warnings jump out at me; this is a trope-y romance-y story about friendship and love :) Okay—on to the fic!
> 
> Disclaimer #1: I don't own the X-Men or make a dime from imagining their between-panel exploits.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: Heroes always practice consent and safe sex.

**Chapter One: Belles of Hell**

"I hope I don't regret this."

Kurt met her frown with a fang-tipped smile. "This time, you're going to love it."

"That's what you said the _last_ time."

Kurt's smile didn't falter; if anything, it broadened. "I won't believe you're truly grown up until you're able to properly appreciate the cinematic masterpiece that is _The Adventures of Robin Hood_."

Kitty rolled her eyes as she arranged herself on the deep-seated burgundy couch. No, she corrected herself, the _sofa_. They called them sofas in England.

"All this talk of growing up," she said, "yet nothing ever changes. Once again, it's my birthday, and I'm spending it watching _your_ favorite movie."

"Didn't we also surprise you with cake and dinner and presents?"

"I suppose…"

Meggan had, indeed, cooked her a spectacular dinner, while Brian had flown to London to bring home the best chocolate cake she'd ever eaten. But her favorite gesture had come from Kurt. At some point during their move, she'd lost her Star of David necklace. Her fritz-prone powers meant she hadn't been wearing it, and it hadn't shown up in any of the boxes they'd brought to the lighthouse from the Mansion and Muir Island. Kitty had pretended it wasn't important, but Kurt had known better. For her birthday, he'd given her a new one, which was currently dangling from her neck.

"And you know what they say about birthdays," Kurt said, pushing the well-worn tape into the even-older VCR. "Something old, something new…"

"Pretty sure that's _weddings_."

"I knew it was one of the two."

Kitty rolled her eyes a second time, but it was mostly for show. The truth was, she'd been looking forward to what had become their annual re-watch of the old Errol Flynn film. It had started with a promise she'd made to Kurt during her tenure as an X-Man, when he'd almost died in her arms aboard the Brood ship. She'd been the one to insist on keeping the promise, but had watched the movie with her arms curled around her knees, six feet away from Kurt, with Illyana between them. The second time had been on Muir Island, shortly after Kurt had woken up from his coma. Then, she'd hovered above the hospital bed next to his, wishing she could confirm his aliveness with her touch, but couldn't, because she was stuck in her phased state. Now, they were at the Braddock Lighthouse off the coast of Cornwall. Brian and Meggan had retired to enjoy each other's company, Lockheed was asleep, and Rachel was missing (and hopefully not dead—they'd all been doing their best to avoid considering that possibility). That left Kitty alone with Kurt and the inevitable defeat of King John's enforcers at the hands of Robin Hood's band of Merry Men. And short of bouncing in the front row of a Cat's Laughing concert, Kitty couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be. She wasn't sure if she'd ever enjoy the movie as much as Kurt wanted her to. But she liked the company just fine.

Kurt stepped nimbly over the coffee table and tumbled into the opposite corner of the sofa, remote in hand. Kitty began the movie folded into her own corner, but had to get closer to reach the popcorn. By the time Flynn's Robin Hood had started winning the archery contest, she'd dropped her shoulder against Kurt's, enjoying the cozy warmth of his velvet-furred body amid the ever-present chill of the lighthouse.

"God, Kurt… The tights. The quips. The dramatic rescues. The outrageous villains. The overblown romance… This is just like our lives."

She couldn't actually see Kurt's smile, but knew it from the telltale twitch of his tail where it draped over his thigh. "I know—isn't it great?"

"Maybe next year, we can watch something less realistic—like a romantic comedy."

"For you—anything."

Something about the way he said it made her heart beat faster, and then slower. It felt like they'd been joking, and then, suddenly, weren't.

But she didn't have a chance to reflect on the change. The first duel between Flynn and Basil Rathbone's Sir Guy of Gisbourne had started, which meant she had to concentrate on pretending not to smile as she listened to Kurt enthusiastically explaining each move and counter move like she hadn't heard it twice before, and many more times between viewings. Part of why she enjoyed watching the movie with Kurt was because she liked seeing him so simply, purely happy. She could almost picture him as an adorably fuzzy child, acting out all the moves and dreaming about being exactly what they were—superheroes. Despite all the awful things they'd faced and survived in their still-young lives, Kitty wasn't above stepping back to marvel at that fact.

It was the strange lull at the beginning of the final act that always did her in. She started yawning, and snuggling deeper into Kurt's warmth. He slipped his arm behind her neck to let her wriggle deeper, his strong, soft fingers curling protectively around her shoulder.

Kitty woke up with her cheek pressed against something exceedingly soft. She dragged her face along the texture of it before she realized it wasn't a what—it was a who.

"Katzchen? It's time to wake up."

When she raised herself from Kurt's chest to see his face, his lips were still moving, but they weren't saying words. The only sound was a high-pitched beeping, getting louder and more insistent the more she strained to hear his voice. She was telling him to speak up, but her voice didn't work any better, and his face had started to fade, getting blurry and ghostlike as she clawed her way through quicksand and the deafening noise to reach him, realizing at the last moment she wasn't going to make it. Her broken throat was calling his name, begging him not to go, telling him she couldn't lose him again. None of it did any good. By the time she finally reached him, her fists clenched around empty air.

...

Kitty woke up painfully clutching a fistful of sheets, heart pounding in her ears. It took her a moment to unclench enough to smash the alarm clock into submission, which wasn't exactly good for it, but was at least safer than phasing through it.

She rubbed her tired eyes as she rolled out of bed. The previous night had been sleepless due to a hostage situation in a Lower Manhattan office tower involving stolen alien tech. Cleanup had taken most of the night, and for most of the morning, she'd had to listen in on a series of congressional hearings debating the status of her own human rights. She'd finally managed to find some quiet time that afternoon to drift off in the blessed privacy of her own quarters. Though she'd been spending plenty of time in Peter's quarters in recent months, she still liked having her own space. They hadn't properly discussed exactly how they were going to negotiate their space after their wedding. Kitty kept meaning to bring it up, but then she'd almost died, and then he had, and suddenly, the only thing that seemed to matter was getting married as quickly as possible. She told herself there'd be time to discuss it later—hopefully, a lifetime's worth.

Her thankfully-not-broken alarm clock said it was currently 9:17 pm. That meant she had just under 30 minutes to shower, get dressed, make her hair look presentable, put on some makeup, and maybe, if she was lucky, get something to eat before leaving for her 10 pm to close shift at Belles of Hell. Seemed doable—for a superhero. Fortunately, Kitty Pryde was one.

She had a towel wrapped around her hair and one leg in a pair of high-waisted jeans when the phone rang. It was her mother. Kitty put it on speakerphone and continued getting dressed.

"Hi mom."

"Hello, Katherine—is this a bad time?"

"No more than usual. What's up?"

"I was just checking in. Seeing how you were feeling."

Kitty sighed as she fastened a pair of large silver cuffs around her wrists—a seldom-worn but long-cherished gift from Alison Blaire. Earlier in the week, she'd made the mistake of telling her mother she was experiencing some totally mild, entirely normal trepidation about her upcoming wedding. She'd been in heavy-duty mom mode ever since, calling daily, and sometimes twice a day, to see how her only daughter was "feeling," as though her feelings were an unpredictable skin rash that might change by the day or the hour.

"I'm _fine_ , mom. Same as this morning. Same as yesterday."

"That's good, dear. I was just checking in."

"I know…"

"Have you talked to Peter about—"

" _No_. And I won't be. It's just pre-wedding jitters. If I tell him, he'll freak out and make everything worse."

"I thought the two of you were communicating better lately."

Kitty broke the tip of her metallic blue eyeliner, swore silently under her breath, and starting digging through her makeup bag for a probably non-existent sharpener. She didn't usually wear metallic blue eyeliner, but it was an unspoken requisite of the job. Bartending at Belles of Hell required projecting a certain image—at least if you wanted to earn any tips.

"We _have_ been," she insisted. "This isn't about that. I just… don't think it's worth talking about."

"Okay, Katherine. You know best."

As Kitty gave up and chose a different eyeliner, there was a pause on the line, long enough for her to wonder if her mother had accidentally hung up. She had just opened her mouth to ask if she was still there, when her mother's voice finally returned.

"Sometimes, I still can't believe it."

"What?" Kitty asked, shaking some texturizer through her short hair.

"That you're getting married. And to Peter, after all these years."

Something about the way her mother said it hit her strangely. She frowned into the mirror as she asked, "Is there someone else you'd rather I marry?"

"I didn't mean that, dear. I know how much you love Peter. There was a time, though, when I used to think… Oh, never mind."

"What is it?"

"Just that, I used to think there might be something between you and that nice German boy."

Kitty stopped in the middle of applying a dash of hot pink lip gloss to shoot her phone a thoroughly incredulous look. " _Kurt_?"

"That's right—Kurt. I always liked him."

"We're talking about the same person, right? Pointed ears? Devil tail? Blue fur?"

"I always thought he was quite charming."

"I mean, sure, he can be, but… Kurt and I have known each other for… a _long_ time."

"I thought you met Kurt the same time you met Peter. When the X-Men—"

"I _did_ , but…" She finished applying her lip gloss, and rubbed her lips to spread it. "Kurt is just… _not_ my type."

"I suppose he's not quite the specimen Peter is."

"What? No, that's not what I… I mean, Kurt's _attractive_. And women like him. He's romantic. And fun. And, like, the nicest guy ever."

"Is he seeing anyone right now?"

She shooed Lockheed off her desk chair so she could sit down to lace up her knee-high leather boots. "You remember Rachel? You've met her—she was with me and Kurt in England."

"Kurt and _Rachel_ are a couple?"

"Um… Yes?"

"I just didn't think they seemed…"

Kitty shot her phone another intense look. "Mom, you barely know them!"

"Have they been together long?"

Kitty shrugged for no one's benefit but her own as she inspected the contents of her purse. "A few months, I guess. I never thought Kurt would go for a _telepath_ , but… Wait, why are we talking about Kurt? I'm getting _married_ , and… I have to go to _work_."

"I'm sorry, dear. I was just trying to take your mind off things."

Kitty found her sharpener in the bottom of her purse, and sighed. "You mean—off the fact that I'm getting married in a less than a week, and should be deliriously happy, but instead feel like I'm walking into a final exam, totally unprepared?"

"You never had a problem with _tests_ , Katherine."

"Exactly."

"I'm sure it will work out. It's normal to be worried before a wedding. When I married your father—"

"Mom? I'd love to hear about it, but maybe another time? I really do need to finish getting ready." In her present emotional state, she knew she wasn't equipped for a story about her father, and was even less excited about comparing her parents' thoroughly imperfect marriage to her own.

"Of course, Katherine. I'm sorry. I was just checking in."

"I know. And… thanks. I'm, uh… glad we've been talking more."

"Me too, Katherine. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

Kitty returned to the mirror to give her completed outfit a final inspection with Lockheed hovering over her shoulder. She'd paired her high-waisted jeans with a laser-cut spandex tank and two low-slung studded belts that matched the mood of her cuffs. She remembered wearing similar things years ago, but styles, she reflected, seemed to come back from the dead almost as often as X-Men. What had once been contemporary was now "retro," and she didn't mind. If dressing like Alison Blaire was wrong, she didn't want to be right.

She spun on her heel to collect her purse and stalked out of the room, Lockheed trailing behind her. If she walked to work, she wouldn't have time to stop in the kitchen, but if she was lucky, there'd be something not-deep fried to eat at the bar.

Her hair was still a bit wet, but it got dryer as she walked—one of the advantages of her new, shorter hairstyle. She'd been working as a bartender at Belles of Hell on and off for the past two years. She could usually only manage a couple of shifts a month, but the manager gave her an unprecedented amount of leeway, partly because she was good at her job (the bar always did very well when she was working), and because he was supportive of the side job that was really her main job. She knew working at the bar was silly; she didn't need the money, and there were almost certainly better ways to spend her time. But she liked it; it was nice to feel normal, if only for a few hours each month. Her friends understood, and some had even stopped by. Rachel had been there, and Kurt had been twice, both times at the end of her shift, to catch a nightcap and talk about old times. Yet neither of them had returned since they'd started dating. Sometimes, she was sorry Peter never visited. But she knew it wasn't his kind of place; Peter much preferred quiet restaurants and quiet time at home to noisy bars brimming with college students.

Tonight, she was heading to her last shift. Her responsibilities were changing, and her life needed to change with them. It was already weird for the leader of the X-Men to be escaping her responsibilities a few times a month to sling craft brews and cocktails for little more than minimum wage. She was sure it would seem weirder once she was married.

Despite her determination to enjoy her final night behind the bar, melancholy thoughts started overtaking her almost as soon as she stepped through the door. The past had been creeping up on her a lot in recent weeks, more so when she was faced with what felt like definite endings. She knew it was something more than sadness about leaving her job behind. But she couldn't quite place what that something more was.

By midnight, she was starting to feel haunted. She could have sworn she saw her father in the shiny surface of a tray, and Logan hovering somewhere, just out of reach of the hearing and sense of smell he'd taught her to hone. Her movements had become mechanical, her glances at the wall clock frequent. Lockheed wasn't much help. She would have liked to have him close at hand, or even draped over her shoulder. But instead he was curled up half asleep in one of the cabinets behind the bar. He'd been secretive, lately, disappearing for long stretches and sleeping a lot when he returned. She supposed he must have his own life, with its own responsibilities. At least he was there, which was more than she could say for anyone else.

Then, suddenly, a familiar "BAMF" and blast of brimstone made everything better.

When she wheeled to face Kurt, his indigo face was illuminated by a very white fang-tipped grin. "Hard isn't it, Katherine? Being grown up?

"Kurt!"

Kitty dove forward to throw her arms around his neck. She'd seen him the night before, during the hostage crisis. But seeing him there, outside the Institute and off the battlefield, brought an unexpected surge of joy. Before he appeared, she couldn't have imagined a single thing capable of improving her mood. It hadn't occurred to her what she really needed was a single person. But as she met Kurt's glittering smile with one of her own, it seemed obvious. At that moment, there was no one else in the entire world whose neck she'd prefer to be hanging from, or whose tail she'd rather have curling around her waist.

Kitty was still gripping Kurt's neck, fingers subtly parting his sleek fur, as she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Kurt's smile became lopsided. "Where else would I be, on a night like this?"

It wasn't exactly an answer, but it made sense when he said it. Kurt had always been there. He'd been there when she'd been a frightened 13-year-old afraid of his demonic features, working tirelessly to earn her friendship. He'd been there when the X-Men had gone off and died without them, helping her make a new home on another continent. He'd been there during her time in college, dropping everything to eat Chinese takeout on the floor of her tiny South Side apartment when she'd been losing her grip mourning Peter. The only thing that had ever truly kept them apart was death—first hers, then his. But even then, they'd come back, to be where they were—hugging like friends who'd been separated for years, rather than hours.

"I'm here to help," he said, finally stepping out of her grip. "What I can I do?"

Focus pulling back to the many tasks at hand, she replied, "You can cut fruit when I tell you, and take trays to the kitchen."

Kurt's smile fell. "I thought I might be better suited to a celebrity mixologist role."

"Celebrity?" she echoed.

Kurt made a dramatic show of looking both ways, cupped a hand to his cheek, and leaned in to faux-whisper, "In my spare time, I'm a _superhero_."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Okay Mr. Superhero—are you licensed to serve alcohol?"

"No…"

"And do you want this very nice establishment to get smacked with a huge fine?"

Kurt's lopsided smile returned. "I am _excellent_ at cutting limes."

There were a few curious stares, and at least one obnoxious man at the bar who had to be told off by Kitty's manager Dylan, who'd met Kurt before, and certainly didn't mind his free labor or his positive affect on the mood of his bartender. But Kitty wouldn't have worked at Belles of Hell if it hadn't attracted an accepting clientele; the student-heavy crowd was far more interested in blowing off steam after a long week of classes than staring at the purple dragon perched behind the tequila or the fuzzy blue mutant who'd joined her behind the bar, who was currently holding a paring knife with his tail as he handed her a plate of freshly cut limes for a tray of mojitos.

But even her busyness and the comfort of Kurt's presence couldn't stop her mind from wandering. She thought about the boyfriends who weren't Peter Rasputin—Pete Wisdom, Alasdhair Kinross, and, for a brief time in which she was clearly not in her right mind, Bobby Drake. The only thing they seemed to have in common is that they were nothing like Peter. Yet none of those relationships had lasted. And Peter had changed. He was more sensitive, more empathetic, more willing to listen, hear, and accept that sometimes (or, most of the time), she knew better. She'd changed, too, become more confident, less afraid of being eclipsed or intimated by Peter's occasional foolishness. Everyone changed, given time and circumstance, pressure and opportunity. Or so she told herself.

She heard the kitchen door creak, and turned to see another man who had very little in common with Peter Rasputin, despite being one of the Russian X-Man's best friends for more than a decade. Kurt was wiping his two-fingered hands with a bar towel that he then tossed over the shoulder of his red Xavier Institute t-shirt. In the moment before he caught her gaze, he looked considerably different from the man she'd thrown her arms around half an hour before. His golden eyes were dim as he stared absently into the crowd, and there was a downward cast to both his tail and his lips. It was an expression she'd been seeing a lot of lately, ever since she'd returned from space, and he'd returned from heaven. She shuddered a bit, as she always did when thinking about Kurt's death. Having him back didn't erase the pain of losing him. In some ways, it made it worse; she didn't know how she could possibly survive losing him again, and had been forced to face that prospect all too often in recent months.

When their eyes met, Kurt brightened, tail twitching pertly ahead of a small, close-lipped smile. "Thinking of running?"

Kitty cocked an eyebrow. "From you?"

"From everything."

She blinked her gaze away, and reached for a wedge of lemon to finish a Moscow Mule. "Love and marriage, Kurt… the commitment that demands, the life we lead… they don't go well together."

Kurt surprised her with a nonchalant shrug. "Then walk away. There's nothing to stop you. None of your friends would call you out. I think even Piotr would understand."

Kitty studied him from the corner of her eye as she slid the cocktail down the counter and slid back the tip. "You sound like Logan," she observed.

"We are as God made us, Katzchen. Whatever happens after that rests on our shoulders. It's easy to play life safe, take no risks, never love—or be loved."

She considered Kurt's words as she wiped the lemon juice off her hands. These sounded like him, but were also sadder than she was expecting. She suddenly wondered why they hadn't talked about his death, and especially the circumstances of his resurrection. Short of cryptic hints, Kurt was decidedly quiet on the topic. She should have tried harder. Maybe Rachel knew something…

Her musings were interrupted by last call, and its inevitable flurry of orders. Kitty and Kurt worked back to back for the next half hour, their physical rhythm easy and thoughtless, the legacy of a thousand training sessions and life-or-death struggles, not to mention countless afternoons and evenings lounging in each other's orbit, her head on his shoulder, chest, or even his thigh, watching a movie, or a storm, or a sunset, or maybe doing nothing in particular besides enjoying each other's company. Time after time, she'd finish pouring a draft or a flight of shots, and feel Kurt's tail tap her ankle, heralding his velvet-coated arm sliding along hers to put more glasses, garnishes, or stir sticks exactly where she needed them.

Finally, the noisy patrons began filing out, and the cleanup began. Kitty watched Kurt help the servers clear the tables as she worked warm cloths over dozens of sticky spouts and surfaces. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't resist a bit of showing off. As Kitty sprayed the bar with foul smelling disinfectant, Kurt was juggling empty bottles to the delight of the hostess and sous chef, who'd abandoned his own kitchen cleanup to watch the show. The performance climaxed with Kurt tossing all the bottles high in the air, teleporting into a handstand, and catching them with his feet. Or at least, that was the intent. Kurt had apparently forgotten he'd crammed his unique feet into a pair of Adidas sneakers. He still caught the bottles—two in his hands, one with his tail—but had to hit the deck to do it. His appreciative audience didn't seem to mind; they assumed it was part of the act. Kitty cleared her throat loudly, sending the paid employees scuttling back to work, and Kurt back to his feet, smiling again, but subtly—the kind of smile that was for a particular person, rather than a crowd. Kitty couldn't resist smiling back; it felt almost like old times.

Sometime later, the industrial dishwasher was whirring, the counters were clean, the chairs were flipped onto the tables, and Kitty was standing with Kurt at the front of the bar, waving goodnight to the other employees. Dylan was the last to go.

"Hope you know how sorry we are to lose you," he said.

Kitty snorted. "Right—sorry to lose your number one most casually employed bartender, who tries to fit in two shifts a month provided she's not stuck in space or fighting the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants."

Dylan turned to Kurt. "She always this bad at taking a compliment?"

"Not always," Kurt replied, grinning. "Sometimes, my compliments are met with physical violence."

Kitty glowered at both of them. "Very funny."

Dylan said, "I hate making you close up on your last day, but—"

"It's fine," Kitty interrupted. "I want to be a regular employee, one last time."

"Okay, well—the dishes need to get changed, and the floor needs—"

"I know. Go. I'll see you soon."

Dylan favored her with a small, affectionate smile before addressing Kurt. "Nice seeing you again, Kurt. You'll take care of my girl here, right?"

"Always."

Kitty bristled; she was the leader of the damn X-Men, not some schoolgirl who needed to be walked home from band practice. But when she shot a glance at Kurt, his brow formed an apologetic pucker that mollified her, at least temporarily.

They watched in silence as Dylan traversed the length of the bar to exit through the main door. After a moment, Kurt followed him, opened the door to peer down the street, then stepped back into the bar, locking the door behind him.

"Is he gone?" Kitty asked.

"It seems so," Kurt replied.

"Finally."

She ducked behind the bar to retrieve a bottle of Angel's Envy bourbon she'd been saving for just such an occasion, ticking Lockheed under the chin along the way. The dragon stirred grumpily before folding himself back into a ball, clearly more interested in sleeping than socializing.

Kurt was making his way over to one of the wide, padded benches that lined the walls of the bar. Kitty joined him, clunking the bottle and two glasses down on the table in front of them before pouring two generous helpings. Then she dropped her weary backside into the bench and her weary shoulder against Kurt's, relaxing into the familiar feeling of his velvet fur buzzing against her bare skin as he shifted his body to accommodate her.

"What a night, huh?"

"I don't know," Kurt replied brightly. "Neither of us got shot at, punched, tasered, disintegrated, or tossed out of an airplane, which was a nice change of pace."

"I haven't seen you much lately," she agreed, "outside of work. I mean, you know— _work_ work."

"You've been busy," he observed.

"We've made time in the past."

"Responsibilities change. You're the boss, now."

Kitty lifted herself off his shoulder, and met his close gaze. "That doesn't bother you—does it?" It wasn't the first time she'd wondered if any part of him resented their role reversal; he'd been her boss far longer than she'd been his. But if he did resent it, he hid it well; even when she'd been an impulsive teenager who should have had a healthier fear of death, he'd never talked down to her, or doubted her judgement.

"No," Kurt assured her. "In fact, I prefer it. I dare say you're better at it than I ever was."

There wasn't any bitterness in his tone, but Kitty still felt the need to say, "That's only because I stole all my best moves from you."

"Flatterer."

Her lips formed a crooked smile—something else she'd learned from Kurt. "That's why I'm a good boss."

Kurt returned her smile, his expression warm, and something else—reverent, almost, like he was seeing her, but also something bigger than her, the person she was and the person she wanted to be, and could sometimes believe she was. She found herself blushing, and dropped her eyes to her drink.

"A toast," Kurt said, raising his glass. "To your impending nuptials."

Suddenly, Kitty realized that for the first time in what felt like a very long time, she'd managed to go a full hour without thinking about her wedding. She collected her feet from where they'd been twined with Kurt's under the table, and straightened her back.

"Don't call it 'nuptials.'"

"To your impending _wedding_ ," he amended.

Kitty met his glass and took a long, deep sip, enjoying the way the alcohol burned down her throat to her chest.

"So you're quitting your job?"

Kitty shrugged, fingers stroking her glass. "I'm getting married."

"And that means you can't work here anymore?" Kurt questioned. "I thought this place was important to you."

"It was. It _is_. But… I've got different responsibilities, now. Like you said—it's time to grow up."

"I don't think that's what I said."

Kitty regarded him quizzically. "I thought that's why you were here—to see me off."

"No, this is the first I'm hearing about it."

"So why are you here?"

"I just thought you could use a friend." He sipped his drink, then added, "Rachel might have mentioned something about you having certain… doubts."

"I didn't say anything to Rachel."

"Ja, well, she's never been the most tactful telepath."

"Weird thing to say about your girlfriend."

"I don't think she'd disagree."

That was probably true. Rachel's boundaries weren't as reliable as Jean's. Rachel sometimes had trouble controlling her powers, and even when she didn't, she often saw or said more than she should. Despite what she'd told her mother, Kitty agreed that Kurt and Rachel were an unlikely match, and Rachel's iffy boundaries were high on the list of why. Try as she might, she couldn't imagine Kurt being comfortable with quite that much exposure. She wasn't always comfortable with it, either.

Following another long sip, she asked, "So are we gonna talk about it?"

"About… what?"

"You and Rachel."

Kurt blinked, picked up his drink, and finished it slowly. "That escalated quickly."

"Refill?"

"Yes. Please."

Kitty dutifully refilled their glasses. "It's just a bit…"

"Weird?" Kurt supplied.

"Yeah, a little. I mean—she's Jean's _daughter_."

"Not _our_ Jean."

"Still."

"I would have thought it was because… Well."

"What?"

Kurt shifted in his seat. "Because of how long we've known each. Because of _how_ we've known each other."

"I mean yeah, that too. I think back to Excalibur, and the idea of you and Rachel getting together would have seemed about as likely as…"

"You and me getting together?"

"Yeah, right."

Her snort of amusement echoed and hung in the too-quiet space. She sipped her drink and fiddled with her glass, wondering at the suddenly awkward silence.

Eventually, she worked up the courage to ask, softly, "Are you… happy?"

She watched Kurt's fingers open and close around his glass. "I like being with her. In the moments between crises."

"Well that was certainly evasive…"

"Yes," he said, meeting her eyes with a more affirmative tone. "I'm happy."

"Because sometimes, it seems like…" she trailed off uncertainly, trying to decide whether it was worth taking them even further from the wordless synchronicity they'd had behind the bar.

"You can tell me," Kurt assured her.

Kitty took a breath, and continued. "It's just… You talk about the stuff with Rachel, but you've been going through your own stuff."

"We all have."

"Yes," she agreed, "but not all of us have almost died. Multiple times. And then… not. And nobody knows why."

"That's not all that unusual."

"Kurt." She wanted to reach across the table for his hand, but didn't, feeling unsure, in a way she'd never been in the past, about which touches were appropriate, and which crossed the line.

"If you're worried about my mission performance—"

"You know I'm not," she interrupted. "I'm worried about _you_. Since you… came back… you've been…"

"What?"

"You smile less."

"I've been smiling all night."

"Which is unusual."

Kitty couldn't see Kurt's tail, but could hear it swish under the table as he flexed his jaw. He'd clearly reached the end of his patience for that particular line of questioning. "I could say the same about you."

"What do you—"

"You're different, too. I never would have thought…" he stopped himself, jaw flexing again as his eyes wandered toward the window.

"What?" she prompted.

"It's not important."

"Is it about me and Peter?"

"It's not my place."

"You're my _friend_ , Kurt. Mine _and_ Peter's. If you've got something to say, say it."

He turned to her and asked, "Are you happy, Katzchen?"

A icy dagger shot up her spine. She wanted another sip of bourbon, but didn't trust the steadiness of her hand. "I'm getting married," she said, flatly.

"I know that," Kurt replied, a subtle edge to his own low voice. "But it's not what I asked."

His tone snapped her out of her trance. "Of course I'm happy," she insisted. "I'm a bit _stressed_ , but, you know… Everybody gets stressed before their wedding."

Kurt dropped his gaze. "I suppose."

"What, exactly, are you getting at?"

"Nothing, except… You said you couldn't have imagined me with Rachel. By the same token, I couldn't have imagined you going back to Piotr."

With a determined effort, Kitty raised her glass to her lips, sipped, and swallowed. "You think I shouldn't have?"

Kurt chose his words carefully. "I think… that there are reasons you broke up in the past."

"I could say the same thing about most of your girlfriends," she observed.

"I haven't _married_ any of my girlfriends."

"People change."

"And Piotr's changed." It wasn't quite a question. But it wasn't a statement, either.

"Has Rachel?"

Their eyes met across the table, his fiery golden gaze meeting its match in her hazel one.

The standoff ended with Kurt expelling a tired sigh. "Maybe we're the ones who've changed. I don't want to fight with you, Katzchen."

"We're not fighting."

"Okay."

Kitty contemplated the slow burn of the bourbon, then said, "I'm sorry."

"Me, too. I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay. I started it. And I can see why you'd say that. You were there for all the times Peter wasn't at his best."

Years ago, when Peter had brutally assaulted her then-boyfriend Pete Wisdom, it had fallen to Kurt to lock him in the Muir Island brig with an inhibitor collar around his neck. Kitty had verbally forgiven Peter for that and his other indiscretions, including the time he'd cheated on her with a princess from another dimension. Peter's mistakes, she told herself, were ones of passion, rather than malice, extending from the emotionally charged chaos of life as a mutant superhero. She'd made plenty of her own mistakes over the course of her similarly chaotic life. They all had, even Kurt; there were times he'd slept with people he shouldn't have, and followed his heart instead of his head.

Kurt interrupted her thoughts to say, "But you're right. People can change."

He punctuated his statement with a small, close-lipped smile—a peace offering, she knew, for hurting her, however minimally. Kitty returned the gesture. She and Kurt had fought before, but never for long, and the source of their fights was almost always concern for each other. Kitty truly wanted Kurt to be happy, and hoped Rachel would help, even if she didn't truly believe it.

As she poured them another drink, Kitty once again found herself pondering Kurt's changes, as well as her own. It was true he smiled less, but it was also true that she noticed it more. When she'd been frightened of Kurt's fangs, fur, forked tail, and glowing eyes, she'd only noticed the things that scared her, and blown those up to ridiculous proportions, wholly divorced from reality. Now, she knew the softness of his fur and loved the playfulness of his fang-tipped smile. She also saw his graceful cheekbones and nicely formed lips, his straight, almost aquiline nose, and of course his well-built acrobat's body, which was partly the result of genetic gifts, but also supreme effort. Kurt was proud of his body and had a right to be; he worked as hard as any of them to shape and maintain it.

She was sure she'd aged substantially in the 12 years they'd known each other, but Kurt never seemed to. She was 25, now, and Kurt was turning 32. Or maybe 31; it didn't seem fair to count years spent in heaven. Besides acquiring an even-healthier roundness to his shoulders, he looked much the same as he always had. Kitty had the sneaking suspicion that even if Kurt were turning sixty, he'd still appear youthful. His fur absorbed wrinkles as well as scars, and he'd never lose his boyish smile, which could instantly transform his face from serious, intimidating, or handsome, to carefree, inviting, and cute. She wondered if his hair would go gray, but couldn't imagine that, either. Kurt was prideful about his hair, which was wavy and shiny and usually a bit too long, constantly tumbling over his forehead and being pushed back again behind his pointed ears. If Kurt's hair did go gray, he'd probably dye it, and be fussy about getting it just the right shade of blue-tinged black.

Kurt caught her smiling to herself. "What's so funny?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Nothing. Just thinking about where we've been—and where we're going."

"And that's funny?"

"I dunno, it's just… It doesn't seem like that long ago we were just silly kids, and now…"

Kurt cocked an eyebrow. "We're silly adults?"

Kitty snorted. "Yeah, I guess."

They were quiet for a moment, nurturing their mirth and memories.

Kurt broke the silence to ask, "How's your mother?"

"She's good," Kitty replied. "We've been talking more, which is nice. She asked about you, actually."

"A woman of taste. What did she want to know?"

"She asked if you were seeing anyone."

Kurt mimed a whistle. " _Truly_ a woman of taste."

"Kurt!" she protested, jostling his ankle under the table. "That's my _mom_ you're talking about."

"I'm not the one asking about _her_ dating life," Kurt pointed out.

"It wasn't like that, she just… We were talking about some of my past… relationships… and she wondered if there'd ever been anything… you know…"

"Between you and me? That's—"

"Crazy, I know. But you know parents. She sees her daughter spending a lot of time with a fuzzy guy with a cute smile, and assumes there's gotta be something going on."

Kurt's indigo lips twitched into the selfsame smile. "You think I have a cute smile?"

Kitty rolled her eyes, and grumbled, "You're the worst."

His lips twitched again, briefly, before he dropped his eyes, and grew thoughtful. "I hate to ask, but hopefully your mother wasn't… alarmed by that prospect? I wouldn't want her to think—"

"What? Oh, no," Kitty assured him, "nothing like that. My mom loves you. She probably wishes I was marrying you instead of Peter."

She'd meant it to be a joke, but it came out wrong, and led to another awkward silence. Kitty sipped her drink, ground her teeth, and cursed herself, wondering why their previously enjoyable visit seemed to have become an increasingly uncomfortable series of challenges and traps.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Maybe I should…"

"Don't go." Throwing caution to the wind, she reached across the table, and laid a hand on his indigo forearm. "Please. It was dumb joke. I was having fun before and… I really have missed you."

"Okay…" Kurt agreed tentatively, studying her fingers on his arm. "But as I assume you don't want to stay here _forever_ —perhaps we should finish closing up."

"Perfect," she enthused, happy for a physical task to ground her tumultuous thoughts. "I'll do the floors, if you handle the dishes."

She was working the mop around a final section of the bar when Kurt returned from the kitchen. Cleaning floors was nothing compared to a workout in the Danger Room, but the bar was warm enough that her forehead was nonetheless misted with sweat. Some of her hair had fallen forward and stuck in it, itchy and distracting. From the corner of her eye, she observed Kurt round the bar, stop, and strike up a dramatically casual lean against the counter, grinning as he swept a hand through his own unruly hair.

"You look like Cinderella," he said, then added, helpfully, "Before the ball."

She pushed her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand and replied, dryly, "Gee, thanks."

Kurt took a moment to savor his own joke, then cast his golden eyes skyward. The sound system had remained on, playing softly in the background. But there was a noticeable change in the rhythm, heralding the start of a ballad. Kitty knew it was a popular song, though she couldn't place the title or artist; music had been important to her in the past, but she no longer seemed to have the time or energy to keep up with it.

Kurt turned to her and asked, "Have you practiced?"

"For what?"

"The dance. At your wedding."

Her hands went numb on the handle of the mop, blood draining from her cheeks. " _Fuck_. With everything going on, I completely forgot."

Kurt was trying very hard not to laugh at her dramatic reaction. "Katzchen—it's a few minutes on the dance floor in the arms of the man you love. If you can survive phasing an entire spaceship through another spaceship, I'm sure you can survive that."

"It's just that I still don't… All this time, and I never…" She was mortified by her mortification, which of course made it worse.

"You took ballet for years," he observed. "And you're a _ninja_. You must be able to _dance_."

She collected herself by dropping the mop in the bucket and hauling it back toward the bar. "I did those things on my own. Doing it with a partner is… different."

Kurt's almost-laugh became a bemused grin. "Yesterday, we successfully performed a move we'd never actually practiced, in which I teleported us into the skyline for you to phase your fist through the armor of our adversary while I held him by the neck with my tail. And I never once worried you'd _trip_."

"But that's _you_ , and this is…"

She cursed herself again as she trailed off, still confused about why utterly normal phrases seemed newly charged with kinetic energy.

Ever the gentleman, Kurt rescued her. "I've always known you to be both fearless and a quick study." He extended his right hand, palm up. "If you'll permit me?"

Still holding the handle of the mop, Kitty pursed her lips, and contemplated his hand. "We've never danced before."

"That can't be right."

"If we have, I can't remember it."

"Then we haven't," he replied, eyes glittering above a sly smile. "Because you'd remember."

Competitive juices successfully engaged, Kitty released the mop, and accepted his hand. "Big talk from a dishwasher who works for free."

"We'll see," he returned, leading her toward the open center of the room. "Except—do you mind?" He gestured toward his shoes. "I'm much better in my natural state."

"You'll be sorry if I step on your feet," she warned.

"I'll take the chance," he said, kicking off one sneaker, then the other. "Come."

At first, she wasn't sure how to hold him. Kurt caught the hand she tried to put on his hip. "No, that's backwards. My hand goes… and yours… and a bit closer… That's right. Perfect."

As she placed one hand on the exposed fur at Kurt's neck and let him curl his strong, soft fingers around the other, Kitty experienced an unexpected surge of trepidation. She'd touched and been touched by Kurt many times, when their bodies were far more practically or actually exposed. But this was different from a hug or a lunge into a teleport. There was something far more intimate about the firm, certain press of Kurt's hand in her lower back, and the close, warm motion of his chest filling and emptying against her own.

"If you can," Kurt was saying, "try to keep your elbow up. It should be easy with me, but it will be harder with Piotr."

"Why would it—"

"Because Piotr is considerably _larger_ than me."

"Oh. Right."

Kitty took a breath, nodded, and let him lead her, guiding one foot forward, then the other. At first, she felt ridiculous. There was something uniquely humiliating about being so physically insecure when she was used to feeling confident in her body. But Kurt didn't laugh at her, or push her. He led her while letting her set the pace.

The song changed, but it didn't matter. She was starting to understand the rhythm of the dance itself, and enjoy understanding it. It wasn't so different from sparring, except it didn't stop, and the point was to make sure it didn't stop, blending one movement into another. She angled her hips into Kurt's, urging him to go faster, hungry for more of a challenge. He accommodated her easily, pivoting weightlessly on his unique feet, his lean muscles bending to her whims in a way Peter's solid body never would have or could have.

At the end of the next turn, Kurt dipped her, his guiding hand showing her just how to arch her back to feel almost weightless a moment before he swung her all the way up again, back into the encircling warmth of his arms, chest, and hips. To keep up, she had to get closer, her hand climbing his neck, almost into his hair, nose brushing the space beneath his pointed ear. Amid the increasingly natural rhythm of the dance, it occurred to her how well she already knew the smell of him. There was always a touch of brimstone in Kurt's fur, though never enough to be unpleasant, especially because after so many years, it was a smell she primarily associated with Kurt, and Kurt was associated with comfort, safety, and home; being with Kurt always felt like coming home.

With each circle of their makeshift dancefloor, she grew more confident, and Kurt became bolder. She swiveled on his hips to lean deeper into her turns, knowing his fluid strength would catch her, again, and again. The next time he dipped her, her short hair nearly brushed the floor. Adrenaline surged in her chest when his finely tuned muscles and hers swept her up again, back into his arms and another turn that become another spin, to the side this time, her body unfurling like a ribbon in the wind. Kitty experienced another delicious moment of weightlessness before Kurt's arm and two strong fingers extended an additional, impossible inch, and jerked her in. She almost twirled smoothly all the way back to the launch point, but on the second-to-last step, she finally stumbled, crashing hard into Kurt's chest.

She hung there, panting, both hands now tangled in Kurt's hair and the collar of his t-shirt, Kurt's hands gripping her hip and lower back. Whatever part of her could still think was sure she'd never had quite so much of herself pressed quite so tightly against so much of Kurt. She could feel the detailed architecture of his muscles and the friction of his fur against his clothes, his pulse mingling with hers everywhere bare skin touched naked fur. The lower half of her body was also acutely aware of his maleness. Despite a decade of sharing close quarters on two separate continents, she'd never seen Kurt naked. She'd seen the shape of him in countless spandex costumes and tiny bathing suits, but that was very different from the faint but definite feel of him through his jeans, shifting against her pelvis.

In the same moment, they realized they were no longer dancing, and that whatever they were doing had gone on too long. Kitty knew she had to let go, but when Kurt started to draw back, her body revolted, fists clenching in his shirt, stopping him. As the fabric tugged on Kurt's body, she felt the spring and tense of his velvet-coated flesh, and sighed, silently, into his neck. Kurt stopped in earnest then, his own lips brushing her ear, and breathing audibly into it.

"Katzchen…"

She dragged her cheek along his, his warm fur tingling on her own warm skin, until she reached the edge of his lips. The kiss was brief, and clumsy. It was also mutual, and deliberate, lips grazing each other once, and then pressing, not quite open, but wanting to be.

Kitty breathed her response against his ticklish pout.

"Yes…"

It was the only thing she could say; in that moment, whatever he'd said or done, she would have said yes.

For the space of three heartbeats, Kurt considered it, golden eyes closing, lips slowly parting. Then, suddenly, he stiffened, and staggered back, hands springing free of her hips like he'd accidentally made contact with something too hot to touch.

When his warmth was replaced with empty air, Kitty felt cold a moment before she felt ill, realizing all at once what they'd done—what _she'd_ done. She swallowed and chewed her rebellious lips as Kurt took another step back, his perfectly balanced feet suddenly graceless and uncertain.

"I should, um…"

"Yeah…"

She was sure it must have been torture for him to resist the urge to teleport, given the intensity of her own desire to phase through the floor. But somehow, they managed to recoup enough of their faculties to exchange numb pleasantries and goodnights. Kurt, of course, left first, and she watched him go, eyes following the unnaturally stiff motion of his tail until he disappeared from view. Dimly, she realized he'd forgotten his shoes.

Kitty stared at the space where he'd been, certain of only two things: Kurt wouldn't be coming back for his shoes; and she had no idea what the hell she was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger—there's certainly more to come!
> 
> For those canon sticklers out there: I know Kurt doesn't give the necklace to Kitty during Excalibur (it happens in Uncanny X-Men #363, and is heartbreakingly adorable), and that I haven't kept all the dialogue/details in-tact from The Wedding Special. Like all fanfic, this story is "inspired by" canon, rather than a totally faithful re-statement of it (if it was faithful, we wouldn't have Kitty and Kurt kissing, and no one reading this story wants that!). Other notable references: Peter assaults Pete Wisdom in Excalibur #92, Kurt visits Kitty at college in X-Men Unlimited #38, and the thing on the Brood ship happens in Uncanny X-Men #163 (the movie promise detail is my own).
> 
> Next—Kurt has to go home to his telepathic girlfriend and then on to Vegas with Peter and the boys for that bachelor party he was so excited about planning. I'm sure all of this will go completely smoothly, without any tension or angst whatsoever ;)
> 
> Hoping to get the next installment out there within the next week or so; I never know how much time I'll have to write, but I'm motivated, I promise! Gotta keep the fic flowing to distract from current events. 
> 
> Hope you'll come along for the ride! And if you liked what you read, consider leaving a review! It almost always helps us fic writers write faster :)
> 
> I also want to acknowledge taking inspiration from danke_rose's fic "Secrets," which has a similar theme. Go read it next if you haven't already!


	2. The Bachelor Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I make a valiant effort to explain Kurt/Rachel. Also: drunk X-boys being kinda terrible, but occasionally cute :)

**Chapter Two: The Bachelor Party**

A day and a half after visiting Belles of Hell, Kurt was trying very hard not to divide his life into two eras: the one before he'd kissed Kitty, and the one after he'd kissed her.

During the quick and purposely exhausting teleport journey home from the bar, he'd told himself it was nothing. They'd been drinking, they'd been dancing, and he'd gotten carried away. That had happened before. But—it had never happened with Kitty. There was also the small matter of the fact he couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't stop replaying how excruciating hard it had been to pull away from the familiar body that seemed to fit so perfectly in his, and the way his heart had raced when Kitty had seized his shirt to stop him. On its own, that was a problem. The fact that his girlfriend was a telepath made it an even bigger problem.

To avoid Rachel, Kurt had faked a sick day, the first time in his entire life he'd ever done such a thing. Early in the morning after a sleepless night, he'd texted Rachel to say he was almost certainly contagious and couldn't possibly join her for breakfast or training (or the shower they often took after training). The rareness of him missing training had caused its own problems. Cecilia Reyes thought his legs must be broken; Rachel was sure his mind was. He could only imagine what Kitty thought, or how he'd ever face her again. He'd have to eventually, of course, since she was technically his boss; Kurt was sure there was an adage for just such a situation, but couldn't quite place it. Yet the risk had been worth it, because he needed time to think. Mostly about Kitty. Important things like the feel of her spine arching under his guiding hand, her fingers tangled in his hair, and especially her eager whisper against his lips, which left little doubt—she'd kissed him back, and would have gladly kissed him again.

Kurt couldn't even hazard a guess at what he should do. Even if his feelings for Kitty had become more than friendship, he couldn't convince himself it mattered. Soon—within days—Kitty would be getting married to a man she'd loved off and on for more than a decade. A very large, very strong, very handsome man who could give her things he never could. Things like an illusion of normalcy. Kitty and Peter could move through the world attracting nothing but appreciate stares. They could travel freely, eat at open air restaurants, go to concerts, go dancing… Kurt knew feeling normal was important to Kitty; it was why she worked at Belles of Hell, and part of why he'd been surprised by her willingness to give it up.

Even if he did want to do something about his newfound feelings, what could he do? Tell Kitty, outright, that he didn't want her to marry Peter until they'd had a chance to explore the implications of their single kiss? He couldn't imagine anything more selfish. There were too many hearts involved, too many friends who'd be hurt. It wasn't the first time in recent months Kurt badly wished he could talk to Logan. Logan would know what to do, or at least be able to help him sort out which of his thoughts were reasonable or crazy. Logan could also be trusted to keep things confidential. There wasn't a single other person Kurt could trust with a secret so large. Except Kitty, of course—before he'd kissed her, and probably ruined everything.

The best course of action, Kurt decided, was to do nothing, and hope it blew over. The kiss was probably little more than a misplaced gesture of affection on the cusp of a major life change. After the wedding, things would go back to normal. They had to.

The only immediate problem was Rachel, and keeping her away from his pervasive thoughts about Kitty. That was a substantial problem, but surely a manageable one, if he could just succeed in avoiding her for a few days. A few days, Kurt told himself, would be enough time for him to begin to forget the smell of vanilla in Kitty's hair, or the look on her face when he'd dipped her, her eyelids flickering as her pink lips parted in thoughtless joy.

The day after Kurt's fake sick day was the bachelor party in Vegas, which he'd organized long before he'd realized the full extent of his conflicted feelings about Kitty's marriage to one of his oldest friends. Yet spending the night hitting the strip with Bobby, Simon, Remy, and the man whose fiancée he'd recently kissed actually sounded appealing compared to the prospect of facing Rachel. At least the bachelor party would be telepath-free and include plenty of cleansing alcohol.

He was a half an hour away from leaving for Vegas when Rachel called, asking to see him off. Out of excuses and bad at lying at the best of times, Kurt had felt compelled to agree. Which is how he found himself mentally reciting a steady stream of innocuous facts about the Blackbird's internal navigation system while facing the full-length mirror in his quarters with Rachel tucked closely behind him, her bare thigh brushing his tail as her arms reached around his body to straighten his already-straight bow tie.

"You look nice," she observed, breath warm on his neck.

"Nice?" he echoed, cocking an incredulous eyebrow at Rachel and his own refection. He was wearing a deep navy tuxedo that he very much hoped would make it through the night in one piece; X-Men parties tended to take certain turns, which could be decidedly fun, but just as decidedly hard on the wardrobe. Ruining a nice suit was unfortunate under any circumstances; ruining an extremely nice suit that had been customized to accommodate a specific tail would be a minor tragedy.

Rachel pivoted on his hip to face him, hands running slowly down his silky black lapels. "You look entirely handsome and debonair and dashing."

"Better."

In response to Rachel's attentions, Kurt managed a small, appreciative smile, but flubbed his reaction to her attempted kiss, tensing and shying away from her lips.

Rachel drew back with a question on her face.

"Sorry," he said, a little too quickly. "I just don't want you to get sick. I'm feeling better, but I'm probably still contagious."

"If you're that worried, maybe you shouldn't go out with the guys."

Kurt fell back on one of his most reliable smiles. "I won't be _kissing_ them."

"Hey, what happens in Vegas…"

"You sound like you'd enjoy that."

She probably would. Kurt had known Rachel a long time, and knew her better since sleeping with her. Though he'd always liked sexually adventurous women, he wasn't always up for everything Rachel was. Not that he hadn't tried; Kurt wasn't accustomed to leaving his partners unsatisfied. But he had a suspicion there was something Rachel wanted he'd never be able to give her, and wasn't sure if she'd always be okay with that. When he was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure he'd always be okay with it, either.

Rachel stepped away, and sashayed toward his bed, every curve of muscle and flesh moving in harmony inside her vivid red minidress. She descended weightlessly to the mattress, sitting upright with her hands extending behind her, casually highlighting her modest but very firm décolletage. Kurt concentrated on fixing his cuffs, and started mentally reciting times tables in German.

After she'd kissed him in the library three months before, Rachel had told him she knew he was attracted to her. That was obviously true, but it hadn't made the kiss any less shocking. He'd kissed Rachel once before, years ago, when he'd gotten carried away playing pirates in the Danger Room—the kind of thing that happened probably too often with too many women (with the notable exception of Kitty). He'd loved Rachel for years, the same way he loved Ororo, and Logan, and, of course, Kitty. But he'd never seriously contemplated making that love physical; if he slept with every teammate he found attractive, he'd barely have time for his day job. Then he'd almost died, in the most ironic way possible—at the hands of an angry mob while he was trying to save the city. By any reasonable measure, he shouldn't have survived. And yet, somehow, he had. Men without souls didn't seem to have the privilege of dying.

After that, Kurt had realized: whatever his current existence was, whether it was life or some kind of limbo between life and death, there was no point in spending it alone. He'd felt the same way when he'd spent a weekend christening every inch of a luxurious hotel suite on a very private Caribbean island with Bloody Bess; his distant but definite memory of being beyond the realm of the flesh made him far less willing to deny that part of himself. Then, seemingly without warning, with Amanda still trapped in limbo and Bess who knows where, Rachel had seized his face, and kissed him. If a jaw-droppingly gorgeous longtime teammate was interested in going out to dinner, and seeing where things went from there, where was the harm? As it turned out, things had gone many interesting places. Kurt had never had sex with a telepath before—let alone a telepath who was _also_ a telekinetic—and there were benefits and well as challenges. Rachel knew what he wanted as soon as he did—sometimes _before_ he did. The former was often a benefit; the latter was often a challenge.

It could have been a one-night thing, except Kurt had never been good at one-night things, and with one of his best friend's dead, the other reuniting with her first love, and as few leadership responsibilities as he'd had in years, he'd found himself with more free time than usual. And so, there'd been more dinners. And more after-dinners. And more training sessions. And more after-training-session showers. Eventually, he and Rachel had been spending most of their off-hours together, provided one of them wasn't in the infirmary recovering from mental or physical injuries. Many days of the past three months had been lost to one or the other, which inevitably made Kurt that much more eager to forget all the doubts and consequences that might have troubled him in the past, before he'd all but jumped from heaven back into the world.

He hadn't been lying to Kitty when he'd said he was happy. What he hadn't told her, though, was that his conception of happiness had changed. Once, he'd thought he couldn't be truly happy without being married to a best friend and, hopefully, starting a family. Now, it was enough to have regular, reliably amazing sex with a beautiful woman he did love, if not in the way he'd once thought he needed to love someone—with all his heart. Rachel was a friend; she wasn't a best friend.

Despite how well he knew Rachel, Kurt had very little idea of how she viewed their relationship—whether she thought it was true love, or something considerably more casual. That was another challenge of dating a telepath; she always knew more about his mind than he knew about hers. He could have tried to talk to her about it, of course. But talking about it would mean thinking about it, and thinking about it would risk Rachel seeing things he wasn't sure he wanted her to see. For the most part, he trusted Rachel not to intentionally read his mind without permission. But there were times she couldn't help it; for a telepath, strong emotions were hard to block out. Sometimes, she'd look at him strangely, like she'd seen something she shouldn't have, but couldn't say anything, because they both knew she shouldn't have seen it. On its own, that was uncomfortable. It was worse not knowing exactly what she'd seen.

Other times, she'd look at him the way she was doing now—smiling her own best smile, the one that didn't include her teeth but did include an almost otherworldly sparkle in her vivid green eyes. It reminded Kurt of Jean the first time she'd risen from the ashes—when she'd been all life, and power, and love, and boundless hope. There was a divinity in Rachel, as there'd been in Jean. To have that divinity aimed at him could be scary, and humbling. It was also intoxicating. In her best moments, Rachel made him feel not just loved, but worshiped, and inspired him to worship her in turn. He'd done exactly that after their first dinner date. Just past midnight with the curtains firmly drawn and clothes strewn across the floor, his cracked ribs numbed by wine and his heart wholly conquered by the brilliance of Rachel's eyes, he'd dropped to his knees at her feet, and made her glow even brighter.

In the present, Rachel was still smiling; sometimes, his thoughts were obvious.

Kurt wasn't sure when he'd started nakedly admiring his girlfriend, in defiance of all his determination to keep his distance. He made another decisive effort to put some space between them by ducking into the washroom, pretending he'd forgotten his cologne or needed to fix his hair—anything he could think of to avoid Rachel's penetrating gaze, and everything that came with it.

From the relative safety of the washroom, he said, "I'm also a bit distracted, thinking about keeping Bobby, Simon, Piotr, and especially _Gambit_ out of trouble."

"What _is_ it with you and Remy?" Rachel asked. "Do you guys have some history I don't know about?"

"No," he replied, running a slow hand through his hair. He probably needed a haircut. But that thought inspired another one, of Kitty telling him she liked his hair longer. "We just… don't particularly get along."

"Because of Rogue, or…?"

"No…"

"Are you… jealous?"

He scoffed at his own reflection. "Of _Gambit_? Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh my god," Rachel exclaimed, "you _are_ jealous!"

"Don't read my—"

"I don't _have_ to read your mind to know you get all hot and bothered thinking about Remy usurping your swashbuckling ladies' man reputation."

He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him. Unfortunately, it worked. He turned from the mirror and walked back toward the bed, stopping in front of Rachel's seated form, just out of reach of her hands, though not her other powers.

"You have a _very_ active imagination."

"Have it your way," she replied, moving her hands from behind her back to between her legs. "But since when are you worried about staying out of trouble?"

Not looking down at Rachel's immodestly exposed thighs, Kurt said, "Since I have a reputation to uphold as the responsible, loving boyfriend of a very beautiful, very powerful woman."

"Nice save."

Half his mouth returned her smile. "In my spare time, I'm a superhero."

Too late, he realized it was something he'd said to Kitty the night before. A wave of guilt washed over him that he furiously fought to tamp down, mobilizing all his anti-telepath training alongside his deep and suddenly desperate desire not to hurt a woman he did love, if never as well as he should have. It didn't matter. Rachel was already giving him that look—the one that said she'd seen or felt something she shouldn't have. Kurt's overwhelming urge to apologize made everything worse; he was now actively thinking about Kitty, because he so badly wanted to apologize to her, too.

Rachel very slowly and deliberately stood up, and reached for his face. Trapped by guilt, Kurt let her touch him. His usually sensitive fur barely registered her delicate fingers stroke up his cheek to the point of his ear, and down. He'd assumed she wanted to get closer to his thoughts. But Kurt couldn't sense the ticklish rush of her mind touching his. Rachel didn't feel close; she felt distant, like she was seeing him while also seeing someone else. Or maybe—some _where_ else. He'd been to Rachel's world. Like most of the X-Men, he was dead there. But he and Rachel had never talked about whether she'd known him before he died. Suddenly, Kurt wondered why.

He'd just opened his mouth to say something—anything—when a hand rapped on his door.

It was, of all people, Remy. "Kurt? Better get a move on. Bobby says if we don' strap the groom into the jet tout suite, he might jus' bolt."

For a long moment, Kurt continued to look at Rachel, studying her green eyes and the sparkle that had gone from them, replaced with something he had no tools to understand beyond his certainty it was bad. Her skin seemed paler, her tattoos darker.

He was still trying to find his own voice when Rachel said, flatly, "Have a good time."

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say. He knew it was entirely the wrong thing and entirely inadequate. But at least it was genuine, in more ways than one. He was beyond grateful for even a temporary reprieve from the confrontation that was quite obviously brewing.

Quelling an intense instinctual urge to teleport, Kurt took one long step back, turned, and left. He didn't look back, but was sure Rachel's eyes followed him the entire way, even after he closed the door.

Having become strangely uncertain about the shape and solidity of his own body, Kurt was almost grateful for the rough arm Remy threw over his shoulders. "'Bout time, boyo. Thought you were gonna be late to your own party."

As they made their way down the hall, Kurt couldn't seem to feel his legs or feet; the only clear indication they were moving was the steadily changing scenery. "I thought it was Piotr's party."

"Think he's gonna need some reminding."

"Then I suggest we start drinking."

"Man after my own heart. Lead the way."

…

The drinking started on the jet and continued in the limo. Kurt threw himself into it with gusto. He had to; he couldn't face thinking about his devastating betrayal of two women who'd occupied significant real estate in his heart for more than a decade or the prospect of meeting Peter's eyes without a healthy blur in his own.

Peter's mood was as foul as Remy had warned. Throughout the flight and the limo ride from the airport to the strip, he'd been sitting apart from the group and gazing morosely out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Kurt knew the feeling, but was almost angry at Peter for feeling it. Peter was getting married to one of the most amazing women Kurt had ever known, who'd helped teach him how to be a hero when she'd still been little more than a child. If he'd been in Peter's place, he was sure he'd never be able to stop smiling at his tremendous good fortune.

The rest of the group was, thankfully, considerably more upbeat. Simon, in particular, was practically in awe at being included in the festivities. A few weeks before, he'd been a low-rent supervillain. Now, he was sipping champagne in a limo with the X-Men.

The new Pyro's voice was over-determinedly casual as he said, "Thanks for bringing me along, guys. Really cool of you."

Bobby smiled back at him, equally casual. "It's all good, Simon."

Kurt had initially been hesitant to invite Simon; in a different, better world, Logan would have been the fifth member of the group. He'd done it for Bobby's sake; it was clear Bobby and Simon had struck up a bond, and maybe something more. Now, watching them sit closer than necessary while engaging in competitive performances of nonchalance, he was very glad he'd invited him. With a soul or without one, and regardless of his own emotional turmoil, Kurt couldn't help rooting for romance. Ironically, that was why he'd been so excited about planning the bachelor party in the first place; he'd always had misgivings about Kitty and Peter's wedding, but wanted to believe they could make it work, for both their sakes.

Peter seemed less willing to trust the newest X-Man. "Are you even old enough to be here?"

"If he's old enough to risk his life with the X-Men," Kurt intervened, "he's old enough to _drink_ with the X-Men."

Bobby raised his champagne flute. "Cheers to that."

Remy met Bobby's toast, then collapsed back into his seat with his legs spread wide and his glass dangling between them. "Never met a Russian who'd turn down a salute to _drinking_."

"Seriously, Peter," Bobby chimed in. "You'd think we were taking you to a _funeral_. If you're getting cold feet—"

"I am _not_ getting cold feet," Peter interjected, pulling his eyes from the window long enough to glare at the younger man. "I just do not see why I would want to celebrate marrying the love of my life with a night of debauchery and reckless abandon."

"How would you like to celebrate it?" asked Bobby.

Peter's face grew wistful as he replied. "With her."

Kurt couldn't blame him. Which didn't improve his own mood. He waved a dismissive hand at Peter as he said, "Don't pay attention to him, boys. Our Piotr here has never let his hair down before. It's going to take a little time."

Peter merely shook his head wearily, and returned his attention to the window.

Lacking the heart to push his old friend any more than he already had, Kurt opted to change the subject. Turning to Remy, he said, "I imagine we'll be doing this for you one day."

The Cajun's lips curled up at the corner. "You couldn't handle _my_ bachelor party, Kurt."

Kurt grinned back at him over the lip of his champagne, and replied, "Challenge accepted."

Remy backed down surprisingly quickly, directing his own suddenly wistful gaze toward the window. "Completely hypothetical, boyo. I don't see me 'n Rogue tyin' any kind of knot."

"What about you and Rachel, Kurt?" asked Bobby. "You guys have been serious for a while now."

Kurt mostly succeeded in keeping his smile in-tact. "Yes, when she hasn't been comatose or fighting with her inner demons, it's been a lovely relationship."

Thankfully, Bobby declined to press the issue. "At least you're in one, brother."

Simon shifted in his seat, while Remy, recovering from his bout of melancholy, turned back toward the group to ask, "So how long we gonna keep avoidin' the elephant in the room?"

"Given the mutants assembled, Remy," Kurt replied, "that could mean almost anything."

"I was specifically thinkin' of the fact that not one, but _two_ men in this car's been involved with the fair Kitty Pryde."

The flare of tension that shot up Kurt's spine was quickly diffused by a loud groan from Bobby. "Really, Remy? It was, like, two months, two years ago. And it's not like there's any lingering romance-y feelings or whatever. We were single, we were bored, it was a fling—that's all."

Remy's crimson gaze rolled toward Peter. "That sit okay with you, boyo?"

Peter's own gaze shot skyward. "Kitty and I have both been involved with other people. If you think this would bother me, Remy, you do not know me very well."

"The whole thing was a mistake," said Bobby. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Peter—Kitty's amazing. But I was confused and trying to convince myself of certain things, and… It was a mistake."

"You do not need to explain yourself, Bobby," Peter assured him. "It is Remy would should be explaining his desire to make trouble where none exists."

Remy merely shrugged, and sipped his champagne.

The Cajun's antagonism had clearly bothered Bobby more than Peter. "I'm sure if you'd been here, Kurt, instead of, you know _dead,_ you woulda put the kibosh on me and Kitty."

Kurt regarded him quizzically. "Why would I—"

"You're always looking out for her," Bobby explained. "You would have known it was a bad idea."

Kurt found himself far more discomfited by that comment than Bobby's question about Rachel. Which necessitated a more radical change of topic. "Ja, well… You dating Kitty is far less distressing than you dating my mother."

Bobby groaned louder and drained the remainder of his champagne, while Simon stared at Kurt, jaw visibly dropped. "Um, _what_? Who's your mom?"

Remy leaned forward, grinning eagerly. "You don't know?" He let Simon's eyes flash questioningly around the limo, then dropped the winning hint. "Who else we know's got blue skin and yellow eyes?"

Simon's jaw dropped an additional inch. "Wait, Kurt's mom is… _Mystique_? And Bobby… _slept_ with her?!"

"Repeatedly, I believe," Kurt confirmed, smoothly finishing his own flute of champagne.

Simon remained shell shocked. "But she's, like, a creepy shapeshifter, and probably a million years old? I mean—no, offense Kurt."

"None taken," Kurt assured him.

Still grinning, Remy observed, "She's also insanely hot."

"A _bit_ of offense taken," Kurt amended, suddenly remembering all the reasons he'd never liked Remy.

Peter shook his head, and expelled a beleaguered sigh. "I knew this would happen."

"What?" Bobby prompted.

"That you would all have too much to drink, and resort to childish name-calling."

Kurt knew he had to salvage the situation, if only for the benefit of getting far drunker than he currently was. He raised his glass, and declared, "Rumors of our childishness are greatly exaggerated. Come, Piotr—a toast. To the end of bad relationships. And the beginning of better ones."

He wasn't sure what inspired that particular turn of phrase. He told himself it was his happiness for Peter and Kitty's impending commitment, Remy and Rogue's portending one, and Bobby and Simon's potential one. Rachel would have known better.

After everyone—including Peter—had dutifully clinked glasses, there was a brief, awkward silence. Bobby was the first to wade back in. "So no more childish name-calling. But—we're still drinking, right?"

"Most definitely," Kurt confirmed, already refilling Bobby's champagne flute.

The night improved considerably when their decision to enter a casino run by demons led, unsurprisingly, to them being attacked by a demon with a grudge against the X-Men. After shifting into his organic steel form to punch the demon's scaly jaw through a craps table, Peter even consented to some celebratory vodka. For a while, in the slightly stumbling walk from the casino to the nightclub, chests surging with familiar adrenaline and arms draped companionably over shoulders, it felt almost like old times—before any of them had died, or come back from the dead, or secretly kissed each other's fiancées. Besides some inevitable brimstone residue, Kurt had even managed not to ruin his suit. Everything seemed to be looking up.

The nightclub they finally arrived at was much like countless others in countless cities around the world: several neon-lit bars scattered across various levels of similarly neon-lit dancefloors, tables, and couches. Yet it did have certain advantages, including the fact Kurt was able to be there as himself. In Sin City, Kurt had always found himself far more likely to be bluntly propositioned than chased with torches. That could still be uncomfortable, but had to be considered an improvement.

They started their time at the club together, sharing more celebratory champagne around a table bordered by wide leather couches. But they gradually mingled and broke up into smaller groups, which is how Kurt found himself standing next to Bobby, leaning on a railing overlooking a busy dancefloor, a beer dangling from each of their hands. Kurt was blinking slowly at the hypnotically hazy scene, enjoying the refreshing coolness of Bobby's shoulder. The gyrating flesh below them seemed a million miles away compared to his vivid memory of Kitty's body spinning open at the end of his arm.

"If I haven't said so before," Bobby was saying, "I'm sorry about the thing with Raven."

When Kurt sighed, he could the smell the alcohol on his own breath. "And I'm sorry for bringing it up. I know from experience the pain my mother can cause."

"No kidding."

"I hope it didn't hurt your standing with Simon."

"We're just friends."

"Of course," Kurt agreed.

After a moment, it was Bobby's turn to sigh. "Jeeze, I'm sorry. Sometimes I still have a hard time… Honestly, I think he's into it. Before, he thought I was a white bread do-gooder. Now, he thinks I'm some kind of bisexual antihero big-shot."

Kurt cocked his head to smile warmly at the younger man. "A positive development indeed."

Bobby snorted, and sipped his beer.

"Anyway…" Kurt said, returning his hazy vision to the dancefloor. "Your... _liaison_ with my mother was a long time ago. God knows we've all done things we regret."

"I dunno, Kurt—I bet you've never done anything quite that stupid."

Kurt glanced in the direction of Peter and Remy, who were standing near the bar fending off two extremely attractive women wearing very few clothes. Peter was visibly blushing. "You'd be surprised…"

"What was that?"

Kurt placed an affectionate hand on Bobby's shoulder. "Bobby, if _I_ haven't said so before—I'm very happy you're feeling more like yourself lately."

Bobby flashed a small, uncharacteristically bashful smile. "I mean, I knew that, but… it's still nice to hear. Thanks."

Kurt dropped his arm back to the railing. For a while, they were quiet.

At last, Bobby asked, "Did you know? I mean, before…"

"Not exactly," Kurt replied. "But then, I was deeply embroiled in my own sexual hang-ups the last time we worked together."

"Boy, those were the days," Bobby ironized. "Gotta say—I never understood that turn for you. Kurt Wagner and celibacy don't seem like natural bedfellows—pun intended."

"I believe there was some mental manipulation involved. It's still a bit unclear."

"Aw man, really? That's even worse. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Better times ahead, ja?"

"Like you and Rachel," Bobby observed. "Couldn't help but notice you being a bit evasive back there."

Competing images of Rachel flashed in Kurt's mind. He saw her divine eyes flickering with pleasure, then full of questions, then dark with hurt, all caused by himself. "Dating a telepath has its ups and downs."

"I can imagine. So does dating a shapeshifter."

Kurt shot Bobby a look, but didn't have the heart to be angry. He was sure his mother had caused enough suffering.

"Sorry," Bobby said, chuckling. "Couldn't resist. If it's any consolation—that shade looks way better on you."

"It's more my mother's unrepentant murderousness that troubles me about your relationship, but… thank you?"

Bobby leaned further over the railing. "Me and Kitty was so weird… Sort of feel like I should be apologizing for that, too."

That did inspire a flicker of anger. Why did people keep identifying him as Kitty's guardian? "Kitty's old enough to make her own choices."

"I know, but I always kinda thought… Never mind."

"What?" Kurt prompted, knowing he probably shouldn't.

"It's just… Between you and me—she smiles a lot more with you than with Peter."

Kurt forced himself to take a tasteless sip of his too-warm beer. As he absorbed the younger man's words, he realized something that should have been obvious: he smiled more with Kitty, too.

Bobby's next words did little to improve matters. "Did she tell you about that weird pregnancy thing?"

Kurt swallowed, and managed, "I think I'd remember that."

"Fair warning—it was weird. But I'm sure you've seen worse, so… This happened two years ago, right before Kitty and I started… you know… Anyway, one day, Kitty wakes up pregnant. Like, really pregnant. Like, huge swollen belly, ready to pop any second pregnant."

"I get the picture," Kurt assured him. He was conflicted enough about the idea of a pregnant Kitty without adding Bobby's descriptive flair to the mix.

"When Hank examined her," said Bobby, "it turned out she was full of these tiny Brood that had been, like, genetically modified to attack her. It was a whole thing. So, a bunch of the students shrank down, _Fantastic Voyage_ -style, to go fight them."

"Wait—they went _inside_ Kitty?" Between the alcohol-induced fuzziness of his brain and the outrageousness of the concept, Kurt was legitimately wondering if he'd properly understood.

"Well yeah," Bobby confirmed. "It seemed like the thing to do at the time. But then, the school got attacked by some actual Brood, and another guy from space who was looking for _our_ Brood… Kitty had to fight them, but she was in rough shape, and with everyone fighting the tiny Brood inside her body, she couldn't phase. I didn't find this out until later, but I guess the Bamfs—your Bamfs—saved her. They, like, swarmed her, teleported her somewhere safe, then took care of the outer space guy. I didn't say this to Kitty, but I sort of felt like… I don't know… Like you must have been there. Like you were protecting her, somehow, even from beyond the grave."

Bobby paused to take a long drag on his beer while Kurt simply stared at him, wondering how that could possibly be the end of the story.

At last, Bobby continued. "Me and Kitty didn't work out for… a _lot_ of reasons. But from the beginning, I knew I couldn't compete with that—with a guy who could be dead, and still looking out for her."

All at once, Kurt seemed to realize exactly how much he'd had to drink; he felt disoriented, and vaguely nauseous. Listening to the story had been difficult enough; processing it was worse. Had he really done that? Not consciously, though the Bamfs were made from pieces of himself. That didn't make it comforting. Bobby meant well, but the fact was he _hadn't_ been there. He felt ill about that, and about how terribly violating the entire experience sounded. Drastic times sometimes required drastic measures. But surely having _students_ enter Kitty's body to fight the Brood threat while leaving her otherwise vulnerable was an especially drastic choice. Kitty didn't need protecting, but she did deserve reliable friends. Why had it fallen to the Bamfs, of all things, to save Kitty the one time in a thousand she couldn't save herself? She could have died. She could so easily have died…

"Hey Kurt—you okay, buddy? You got kinda far away for a second there."

"Ja, sorry," Kurt replied, blinking himself out of a fog. "That… does sound weird."

"I'm surprised Kitty never told you."

Kurt's swallow stuck in his throat. He'd definitely had too much to drink. "I, uh… I think I need to…"

"Should I—"

" _Nein_ ," Kurt interrupted, a bit too quickly. "No, I'll be fine. Back in a minute."

Kurt wove his way blindly through the streams of bodies, not even managing a polite smile at the unsubtle appreciation he attracted from several women and just as many men. One of the women was exactly the type of statuesque blonde he would have considered his type at another time in his life. Now, he perceived her as little more than a ghost before she was quickly lost in the crowd.

Thankfully, the washroom was empty. Bobby had started to ask if he wanted company because even in Vegas, such spaces could be the wrong kind of eventful for obvious mutants like himself. For a moment, Kurt studied the washroom stalls, wondering if he might actually throw up. Ultimately, he decided against it, and proceeded instead to the row of urinals. He was in the midst of relieving himself when the door creaked opened, admitting Peter Rasputin.

He and Peter had seen each other naked in numerous change rooms over the years. But at that precise moment, something about the thought of having himself in his hand next to Peter doing the same made Kurt distinctly uncomfortable. He finished quickly to avoid it, and was at the sink by the time Peter began extricating himself from his pants. There was, Kurt knew, a lot of Peter to extricate, regardless of whether he was in his organic steel form.

"I am glad you are here, Kurt."

"In the washroom?"

That actually elicited a smile. "No. I mean here. With me. With _us_. I would not want to marry Katya without you by my side."

Kurt responded automatically. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Peter finished and joined Kurt at the sink. "There is something I need to discuss with you."

Kurt concentrated on drying his hands as he said, "Of course."

"I do not need to tell you we lead dangerous lives. We have both died, and returned, and almost died many more times." Peter turned off the tap, and met Kurt's eyes in the mirror. "If anything should happen to me, I would like you to look after Katya."

Kurt studied Peter's slightly blurry, lantern-jawed face in the mirror, half a foot higher than his own indigo-furred one. "Are you asking me to be a godparent to your wife?"

"I am asking you to look after her, as you have always done."

Kurt intentionally sunk a fang into his cheek inside his mouth. That was one too many references to his supposed guardianship of Kitty. "Kitty isn't a child. She's your superior as well as mine."

"Da. But she is still Katya."

Kurt tried to imagine what that meant to Peter. He and the other X-Men had been lost in another dimension while Kurt had watched Kitty change from a girl into a young woman. Peter had expected Kitty to remain the same girl he remembered, trapped in stasis, waiting for him to return. That had been the catalyst for Peter brutally attacking Kitty's then-boyfriend Pete Wisdom, when Kurt had been the leader of Excalibur. In addition to locking Peter in the Muir Island brig with an inhibitor collar around his neck, Kurt had given Peter a stern lecture about the importance of respecting Kitty's personal autonomy. In retrospect, he wondered if he should have done more; he'd let Peter out of the brig and back onto the team the next morning.

If he'd had less to drink, Kurt might have been able to let Peter's comment go. But he couldn't stop seeing Peter in the brig, appealing to his friendship while someone Kitty loved lay fighting for his life in Moira's lab, blending that real memory with an imagined one, of students hunting blood-thirsty aliens inside Kitty's unnaturally swollen stomach. Kurt couldn't imagine Kitty agreeing to such a plan; unless she'd been actually comatose, she would have been able to come up with a better one.

Kurt turned to confront the friend and longtime teammate whose romantic bliss they were supposedly celebrating, and said, sternly, "Kitty doesn't need taking care of—by you, me, or anyone. She's her own woman and she'll make her own decisions, regardless of what happens to either of us."

Peter blinked, taken aback. "I am sorry, Kurt. I did not mean—"

"I have had this conversation with you before and I don't want to have it again."

"Da. I understand."

"I hope so."

Kurt dropped his eyes to the counter. His tail was revealingly agitated, and he had to focus to calm it, breathing slowly until it stopped slashing behind his knees and lowered itself to his ankles. As he stared at the faux marble counter, he thought about Kitty sitting next to Pete Wisdom's hospital bed. Watching Moira fight to save her newly christened boyfriend, Kitty hadn't looked sad, or angry; instead, she'd looked numb, like all her glorious zest for life had been drained from her young body, leaving her an empty husk. Kurt remembered feeling guilty realizing he cared less about what happened to Wisdom than about what losing Wisdom might do to Kitty, and what that, in turn, might do to him.

In a quieter voice, Kurt said, "I just want her to be happy. No one wants that more than I do."

"Except me."

It took all of Kurt's willpower to let Peter's words stand. But he did, humbled by another wave of guilt. Peter must make Kitty happy. She'd chosen to marry him—proposed to him, even. He had no right to question that, whatever his personal feelings. Peter had his flaws. But he'd never agreed to be the best man at an old friend's wedding, kissed that friend's bride-to-be a week before said wedding, and then upbraided him in a nightclub washroom about the same things he was guilty of—namely, not respecting Kitty's right to make her own decisions.

They left the washroom together, Kurt walking in Peter's considerable shadow until they found the rest of their friends. Peter drifted toward Bobby and Simon, leaving Kurt alone with Remy at the bar.

Kurt didn't realize he was still watching Peter until Remy drawled, "S'matter Kurt? 'Fraid you don't measure up?"

There was no other way to respond to that except with a very large, very gracious smile. "Remy, you and I both know—size is nothing without finesse."

"That's true. And then, you got other advantages. I imagine that tail comes in useful, time to time."

Kurt leaned back against the bar, feeling strangely comforted by Remy's familiar prodding. "What is this about, Remy? You seem very determined to start pissing contests tonight."

"There's somethin' going on with you, and I'm tryin' to figure it out."

"There's nothing going on with me."

The Cajun performed a half shrug. "Whatever you say, boyo. Thing is—I been a lovesick fool often enough to spot one a mile away."

"I'm with Rachel, Remy."

"But missing someone else, n'est pas?"

When his golden gaze met Remy's crimson one, Kurt's automatic denial died on his lips. Despite his flippant tone and against all odds, Remy was serious.

Kurt studied the light dancing in Remy's Sazerac cocktail, and asked, quietly, "What if I was?"

"You been dead, you must know—life's too short for regrets."

Kurt glanced back again at Peter, Bobby, and Simon. The younger men had somehow talked the Russian into sharing a tray of shots. "Piotr asked me to 'look after' Kitty if anything happened to him."

Remy made a face. "He wants you to be a godparent to his wife?"

"That's… exactly what I said."

"An' that's why the girl likes you."

Kurt had no answer to that. It had been a long time since he'd had any doubt about Kitty liking him. The problem was not knowing which way she liked him, or if it even mattered.

"I know we haven't always gotten along," said Remy. "Truth is, I sometimes been a bit jealous of you."

Kurt inspected Remy's handsome face for sarcasm. "I find that hard to believe."

"Believe what you want. But for me, relationship's are usually boom 'n' bust. What you've got, with Rogue, Stormy, Kitty… they'd do anything for you."

Seized by an unexpected pang of emotion, Kurt said, "They'd do the same for you, Remy."

"I don' know 'bout that. I've disappeared for months, and no one came looking. For you, the X-Men went to hell, heaven, and back."

Remy was avoiding his gaze, but Kurt looked at him anyway, addressing his words to the Cajun's stubble-dusted cheek. "Why are you telling me this?"

Remy replied, "We all make mistakes, boyo. You're the kinda guy people care about enough to forgive."

Kurt shook his head. "Not this time."

"That bad, huh?"

"I'm not sure yet, but… I think so."

"You didn't… sleep with Kitty did you?"

" _No_ ," Kurt replied tersely. He swallowed, then added, in a lower voice, "But… It might be worse than that."

In his mind's eye, Kurt saw Kitty's smile at the bar, the moment before she threw her arms around his neck. His heart had surged as much then as when she'd seized his shirt to keep his hips close to hers. His heart always did that when she wanted him, whether she wanted him to hug her, teleport her a mile above the city, or just sit with her through a cold night or after a long day. For a decade, he'd been most at home in her orbit, because home was wherever they were able to be together. Kurt had traveled to dozens of alternate dimensions. He'd visited other planets. He'd been to heaven, and many versions of hell. But it was beyond his power to imagine a life worth living that didn't include coming home to Kitty.

Remy began to ask, "What could be worse than—"

"I think I'm in love with her."

Kurt didn't know it was true until he said it. Having said it, he was sure it was.

Remy expelled a long, slow breath. "That is worse."

"Ja," Kurt agreed. He felt the way Kitty had looked watching Pete Wisdom cling to life—hollow, and hopeless.

"So what're you gonna do?"

"What can I do? What's done is done. It's too late, now."

"Maybe you outta let her decide that."

Kurt nodded, though he was far from convinced. There was no escaping the fact that Kitty had already made her choice.

Still, he was grateful to Remy for trying to help. Perhaps he'd misjudged Remy, just as Remy had misguided him the first time they'd met, when he'd charged him with betraying the X-Men to yet another demon, while he was actually in the process of saving them. Maybe, from that moment on, he and Remy could turn over a new leaf, and become real allies, not just on the job, but off it, too. He was already imagining a Danger Room double date between Remy, Rogue, Kitty, and himself, in which their combined powers would easily dismantle holographic versions of Nimrod and Bastion.

He'd just opened his mouth to communicate his new optimism, when Remy opened his, and spoiled the sentiment entirely. "'Sides—if you run outta X-women to finesse, pretty sure the demon casino'd hire you to smile pretty for the high rollers."

Kurt watched Remy raise his cocktail, waited until he started to take a sip, then said, "Speaking of women who can take care of themselves—"

Remy coughed on his drink and clapped a firm but thankfully not kinetically charged hand on Kurt's back. After a moment, he managed, "This's been a great talk, Kurt. We should do it more often."

The Cajun slipped off his bar stool to join their friends, and Kurt followed him, thinking it was true what they said: the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

The night ended later that morning, with five very drunk mutants in various states of undress sprawled across various pieces of furniture in what should have been a perfectly spacious hotel suite. Simon only made it as far as the first armchair, while Bobby fell asleep half sliding off a narrow couch next to an untouched bed. For his part, Kurt fell asleep face down at the end of a king-size bed otherwise occupied by Peter and a loudly snoring Remy, wearing his shirt and jacket, but not his pants.

He dreamed about dancing with Kitty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always drink responsibly, unless you're a fictional character with a mutant healing factor who needs to get very drunk in order to facilitate narratively motivated heart-to-hearts!
> 
> I'm sure this wasn't enough to make Kurt/Rachel truly believable, but hey, I tried! They'll be a bit more (from Rachel) in the next chapter. The Kurt + Bobby stuff is a response to fears I had during Kurt's priest years, and the Kurt + Gambit rivalry is just a vibe I've always gotten (Kurt insists on *not* being "Team Gambit" at the wedding in Mr. & Mrs. X #1, for instance).
> 
> Some of the limo dialogue occurs in X-Men: The Wedding Special and X-Men Gold #26 (I borrowed a bit from each). I changed Kurt's clothes because I felt like it; I enjoy him in a suit that matches his fur ;) The very strange romance between Bobby and Mystique happens in X-Men #189-203 (bleeding into "Manifest Destiny"). Kurt and Remy's first meeting occurs in Excalibur #57-58. (Don't think they met before this, but correct me if I'm wrong!) The Brood pregnancy stuff happens in Wolverine & the X-Men #5-7. I wouldn't necessarily recommend the latter if you're a fan of Kitty, though the parts that didn't involve her are reasonably fun.
> 
> One more unnecessary note: I had originally called Rogue Anna Marie in this chapter and throughout the story, mostly because it felt weird to be using her codename when I'm using everyone else's not-codename. But I ended up having second thoughts, and changing it to Rogue, since that's what she prefers to call herself (and was, of course, the only name she had for years and years). 
> 
> Next: Kitty's Stripperoke Bachelorette Party! Gosh, I wonder what Kitty and Rachel and Meggan will talk about... Stay tuned!


	3. The Bachelorette Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the X-ladies have their own heart-to-hearts. Prepare your emotions!

**Chapter Three: The Bachelorette Party**

Three days had passed since Kitty had danced with Kurt at Belles of Hell—danced with him, and kissed him.

The first night had been sleepless. The next night, she'd slept too much, but it hadn't been restful. She'd had several vivid dreams, all of which had been nightmares. Each of them involved Kurt. Specifically—Kurt dying. And each time, she was helpless. In one nightmare, she found out in a phone call. In another, it was a news report. The third nightmare was actually a memory. She was trapped in the stasis tube in Hank's lab on Utopia, so intangible after being rescued from a giant bullet hurtling through space, she couldn't talk, or even properly hear. Hank had scrawled the news on a piece of paper, and held it up to the glass. He'd been crying, but she couldn't. It would be weeks before she'd be solid enough to cry. After every nightmare, Kitty had woken up sweaty with her intangible hands knotted in intangible sheets.

Thankfully, she hadn't been sleeping with Peter. To lend anticipation to their honeymoon, they'd agreed to take a week-long hiatus from any intimacy that wasn't brief kisses. It had been Peter's idea. When he'd suggested it, Kitty had balked. Now, she was sure she'd never been more grateful for anything in her entire life. She couldn't imagine trying to explain to her husband-to-be why she was beset by sweaty nightmares about Kurt when she should have been looking forward to her wedding. Even if she did try to explain, she had no idea what she'd say. She was clearly terrified of losing Kurt. Why she was terrified of losing him, and what she should do about that fear, were less clear.

At first, she contemplated talking to Kurt. She stopped contemplating it after he called in sick for training. Obviously, Kurt wasn't sick. He was never sick, and even if he was, he wouldn't miss training because of it. But Kitty had no recourse to challenge him. Given her leadership role and the way she'd seized Kurt's shirt at the bar when he'd tried to pull away, it felt profoundly inappropriate to track him down and demand answers about his absence; the X-Men's newly formed HR department would have a field day. The possibility that Kurt might see it that way made her physically ill. She reassured herself with the memory of his unique hands squeezing her hips, holding her tight as their lips met. There was no doubt—Kurt had kissed her back, and would have gladly kissed her again.

Part of her very much wished Kurt had kissed her again, and done considerably more. Screwing up more completely would have made her choices clearer. As it stood, Kitty only knew that her relationship with Kurt had changed. How it had changed, and whether it mattered, remained unanswered. It was hardly the first time Kurt had gotten swept up in the romance of a moment, and kissed someone he shouldn't have. But—it was the first time he'd done so with her. There was also the small matter of the fact she couldn't stop thinking about it. Many times during the past three days, Kitty's mind had wandered to the revelation of Kurt's lean muscles fitting so perfectly inside her own, every curve and inch of him so firm and sleek and so very warm, so wonderfully familiar and so thrillingly new. Which was a problem, because she was getting married in three days to a man she'd been sure was the love of her life. And that man wasn't Kurt.

Kitty badly wished she could talk to someone who wasn't Kurt or Peter. But her two best girlfriends were off-limits, for different reasons. Rachel was obviously out of the question; Kitty was as overwhelmed with guilt about what she'd potentially done to Kurt and Rachel's relationship as what she'd potentially done to her own. She'd barely been able to meet Rachel's eyes at training, and felt certain Rachel was avoiding hers, as well. Illyana was at least a possibility, but she didn't want to put her in the position of choosing between a friend and a brother; it wouldn't be fair to entangle Illyana in what was, ultimately, a mess of her own making.

As she'd done many times before, Kitty made a tactical decision: she decided to continue with her life, and hope whatever doubts or desires had inspired her kiss with Kurt blew over. So, she went to work. She listened in on more congressional hearings. She led planning sessions with her team, at which she repeated the lie of Kurt's sickness. She wished Peter a good time when he left for his bachelor party in Vegas, and brought him coffee and aspirin when he arrived back at the Institute late the next morning, wearing a disheveled suit reeking of alcohol and a hint of Kurt's brimstone. And even though she didn't want to, she allowed Peter to linger in her quarters before her own bachelorette party the following evening. Regardless of the emotional turmoil she was barely holding in check by pretending everything was fine, Kitty was looking forward to the rare miracle of a night out with her friends. But Peter's mood was threatening to spoil her own.

When she glanced at Peter from the open door of the washroom, he was sitting on the edge of a chair he was comically too large for, gazing blindly out the window. He'd been that way throughout the week. Though Peter had never been buoyant, he wasn't usually so consistently somber. Kitty wondered if he was having his own doubts. Or maybe he was just regretting his intimacy ban. Either way, she wanted him to snap out of it. It felt like an eternity since she'd seen him smile.

"So how was the bachelor party?" she asked. "You barely talked about it."

"Other than the bar fight with a demon," Peter replied, "it was as you would expect."

Kitty snorted at her own reflection, nearly breaking another eyeliner. "With that crowd, a bar fight with a demon is _exactly_ what I'd expect."

She just managed to catch Peter's blink-or-you'll-miss-it smile. "Da."

"That's it?" she questioned. "Nothing else interesting?"

"Remy was his usual self. Kurt also."

Kitty had a feeling she knew what that meant. "How drunk did Kurt get?"

"Drunk enough to be… passionate."

Kitty paused in the middle of applying her burgundy lipstick. "He didn't try to pick anyone up, did he?"

"No," Peter replied. "The other type of passion. At one point, I thought he might strike me."

Kitty abandoned her lipstick and gripped the door jam to lean into the bedroom. "You thought _Kurt_ might _hit_ you? Why?"

Peter he crossed his thick arms over his broad chest. "He was acting as your friend—reminding me to treat you with all the love and respect you deserve. He has a right to say such things. Though I am disappointed he felt I needed reminding."

Kitty opened and closed her hands as her sides. "He was drunk. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"Perhaps," Peter agreed. "Though his words reminded me of a time when I did something very wrong to someone you loved."

Kitty met his grey-blue gaze. "Are you thinking about Pete Wisdom? We've talked about it, Peter. It's—"

"It will never be okay, Katya. I know that."

His sincerity made her realize she'd never really forgiven him, and probably never would. They'd have to live with that, together.

As she returned her attention to the mirror above the sink, Kitty said, "Then there's nothing else to talk about."

Kitty finished applying her lipstick, tapped off the excess on a slip of toilet paper, then took a moment to inspect her face in the mirror. Once she was satisfied that her seldom-used foundation hasn't left any orange streaks on her cheeks or neck, she backed up to examine her entire ensemble. She was wearing a sky-blue jumpsuit that cinched at the waist with a matching blue silk ribbon. She'd been drawn to it because of the color, which reminded her of one of her old uniforms—the blue-on-blue ensemble she'd worn during her final month as an X-Man and her first year with Excalibur. Now, she was regretting the choice. She must have tied and re-tied the ribbon belt a dozen times, but couldn't get the bow to stay full; it kept drooping, twisting, and making her crazy. She considered giving it another try, but knew she was running out of time; if she was late, she'd never hear the end of it.

When she stepped out of the washroom, Peter was there to meet her. His forlorn expression made him seem much smaller than his six feet and six inches. "Are you _certain_ you need to have a bachelorette party, Kitty?"

Kitty rolled her eyes as she brushed past him. "I _am_. Or at least—a whole bunch of X-ladies are, and have threatened mutiny if we don't have one." She located her purse, then added, "Besides, _you_ went to _Vegas_. We're just going downtown for a few hours. It's not a big deal."

A firm hand rapped on her door, accompanied by a Southern accent that could only belong to Rogue. "Hurry up, Kitty! Limo's waitin'!"

Peter stepped into her body, and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Who planned this? If it is Rogue, you can't go. If it is Ororo, then maybe it's fine."

"Funny," Kitty ironized. "But I think you're underestimating Ororo, Peter."

As if on cue, Ororo's voice could be heard on the other side of the door. "I cannot _wait_ to see the look on her face…"

Before Peter could lodge another protest, Kitty favored him with the best smile she could conjure, and said, "But since you're giving me the irresistible puppy dog eyes… I promise there's nothing to worry about. I don't know who planned it, but it's _just_ karaoke."

Peter gathered her the rest of the way into his arms, until her cheek was resting on his t-shirt clad chest. Kitty wound her arms around his torso, and tried to hug him back. Trying to hug Peter often seemed like the best she could do; she'd never been able to wrap her arms all the way around his prodigious body. In the past, she'd enjoyed his solidity—the way she could disappear into him, and know she was both boundlessly loved and entirely safe. But at that moment, she only felt small. When Peter kissed her temple, she felt even smaller. Kurt used to kiss her that way too, years ago. But from Kurt, it felt different. Kurt didn't tower over her the way Peter did, and had never confused one kind of affection for another; their kiss at Belles of Hell had been brief, but it definitely hadn't felt like a brother kissing a sister, or a parent kissing a child.

As Peter bent his face toward hers, Kitty froze, and stepped stiffly out of his embrace.

"Sorry," she managed. "It's just—I've got lipstick on, and you know what a klutz I am with this stuff. I'll get it everywhere."

Peter settled for another gentle kiss of her forehead, which made her feel even colder—like antique porcelain, trapped under glass.

Her thoughts were interrupted by more insistent knocking. There were multiple sets of hands, now, any of which could make short work of the door.

"I've gotta go," said Kitty, slipping out of Peter's arms. "Don't wait up!"

She didn't look back, but felt Peter's pale eyes following her the entire way. Her coldness followed her too, until she outran it by jumping into multiple clumsy embraces with the many marvelous women who'd raised her, loved her, and fought by her side. For a while, her doubts faded; getting married must be right, to have made her friends so happy.

The karaoke started unofficially in the limo. Ororo had an unsurprisingly lovely voice, and Meggan had a surprisingly bad one. Rogue's enthusiasm almost made up for her occasional tone-deafness, while Betsy and Stevie held back, probably biding their time; Kitty could see either of them unleashing a devastating performance at a dramatically appropriate moment. Illyana and Rachel were notable in their absence. Kitty was assured they'd be meeting them at the bar, along with Lorna and a few other surprise guests.

It turned out to be a night of many surprises. The first was the revelation that the X-ladies hadn't brought Kitty to a karaoke bar—they'd brought her to a _stipperoke_ bar. And not just any stripperoke bar.

Kitty observed the stage bordered by very waxed, very spray-tanned men and women doing various things to various stripper poles with one cautiously opened eye. "Oh God… it's… co-ed. I… didn't anticipate that."

"We're the X-Men, Kitty," Rogue quipped, helping Ororo wrestle her into a novelty veil and "bride to be" sash. "We're all about equal opportunity."

Meggan dashed forward and declared, "Kitty! Let's sign up for a song before the others arrive! Do you want to do 'The Islands in the Stream' with me?"

Kitty's attempt at a smile was more of a grimace. "Can I get a drink first?"

She managed to finish most of a brightly colored, disturbingly sweet cocktail presented in an abnormally large martini glass before taking the Kenny Rogers part in Meggan's proffered duet. Midway through the song, a very loose-hipped male dancer wearing a studded leather g-string tried to coax her toward a stripper pole. Kitty declined, though her blush was more for the dancer's benefit than her own. Attractive, immodestly exposed bodies weren't exactly a revelation to someone who spent their days surrounded by spandex-clad superheroes. The dancer's abs couldn't compete with Peter's, and certainly not with Kurt's, which were, improbably, both harder and softer.

Ice broken, Kitty was permitted to return to her fluorescent green drink and the rest of her friends—at least until Ororo hauled her back onto the stage to sing the Sheena Easton part in Prince's "U Got the Look." Illyana arrived in the middle of Kitty doing a spectacularly bad solo performance of "...Baby One More Time." Capitalizing on the moment, Illyana sauntered to the edge of the stage, withdrew a dollar bill from the bodice of her black leather vest, and threw it, with a wink, at Kitty. Kitty dutifully scooped it up and tucked it into the belt of her jumpsuit, to riotous cheers.

Many butchered songs and sugary alcoholic beverages later, Kitty found herself ensconced between Ororo, Betsy, and Stevie on a pearl white couch that would have been equally comfortable on the set of _Miami Vice_. Rogue was on stage with Lorna giving a spirited but decidedly off-key rendition of "A Whole New World" (compounded by Rogue's insistence on taking the Jasmine part). Neither the well-lubricated crowd nor the ever-eager dancers seemed to mind.

"I'm glad to see you enjoying yourself, Kitten," said Ororo. "I wasn't sure it would be your cup of tea."

"It's not," Kitty confirmed, but smiled as she added, "The company's decent, though."

Ororo, resplendent as usual in a coral dress that was snug at the chest and broke in diaphanous folds around her hips, slid her vivid fuschia drink onto the glass table, and placed her hand on Kitty's thigh. "We should talk."

Kitty feigned ignorance. "About the set list? Pretty sure I lost control of that quite a while ago."

"No," Ororo said seriously. "About your wedding."

Kitty sighed. "If we have to."

"It's a big decision," said Betsy. "Best to make sure you're making it with a clear head."

"It's a bit late for that now," Kitty ironized, glancing at the cocktails littering the table.

"For our kind," said Betsy, "it's never too late."

Kitty's fingers tightened around her own pink cocktail. She didn't like where the conversation was headed. "I'm not saving the world. I'm _just_ getting married."

"Kitty, we're being serious," Stevie chimed in. "We know you and Peter have had your ups and downs, and we just want to make sure—"

"I can't believe this," Kitty interrupted, anger flaring. Regardless of her own doubts, she didn't like having her decisions openly questioned. Did they think she was still a child? "My wedding is in _three days_. If you had _opinions_ , you could have told me a week ago. Or a _month_ ago. Or literally any other time that wasn't _three days_ before my god damn wedding."

In a level tone, Ororo observed, "You weren't engaged a month ago."

As she met Ororo's blue-eyed gaze, Kitty did the math. She was right.

"That's not the point," Kitty grumbled.

"So what is the point?" Stevie questioned.

"The point is, _I_ proposed to Peter. I knew what I was doing then, and I know what I'm doing now." Kitty hoped she'd infused the words with enough passion to deter Betsy from investigating the nature of that passion.

"I'm sorry, Kitten," Ororo said, withdrawing her hand. "This wasn't meant to challenge your judgment. I merely wanted to remind you, as someone who's been there—marriage is hard. It requires more than love. It requires a need. A hunger. A feeling that you'd rather not go on living than spend another day apart."

Kitty knew Ororo and the others were trying to help. But she wasn't prepared to sit in a crowded bar, pinned into a corner by her mentors and elders, and speak honestly about her doubts. Thinking about her doubts was bad enough. There'd been a time when she'd felt that hunger for Peter. She'd felt a version of it as a teenager, and a stronger version two weeks ago, when Peter had come so close to dying. But she'd also felt it for Kurt. When he'd tried to back out of their embrace at Belles of Hell, she'd been almost desperate to keep him close. In her dreams since then, she was desperate.

Kitty regarded Ororo squarely, and said, "I love Peter."

"I know," Ororo assured her, stately lips forming a small but genuine smile. "But there are many types of love, appropriate to many different times, and many different people. Be sure that this is your time."

"It is," said Kitty. "I _am_." Her defiance had become automatic; at that point, she would have told any lie to extricate herself from the conversation.

"That's all we wanted to know," said Stevie.

Betsy slipped an arm around her shoulders, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "We've very happy for you, Kitty."

"Thanks," Kitty managed.

Rogue and Lorna were wrapping up, creating a brief lull in the energy of the room. That's when Kitty saw a shock of red hair sweep through the scene. It was Rachel. Suddenly, Kitty very badly wanted to talk to her.

With as much grace as she could muster, Kitty ducked out from under Betsy's arm. "Would you guys excuse me for a minute? I, uh, need to use the ladies room."

On her supposed journey to the washroom, Kitty did a circuit of the bar, but couldn't spot Rachel. She tried the actual washroom next, without success. Veil in hand, she wandered the empty hallway beyond the bar, until she located a backdoor. It didn't seem to be locked or wired with an alarm, so she pushed it open, and stepped out into the warm June night. She found herself standing in a small employee parking lot lit by a sickly orange floodlight. Rachel wasn't there. But someone else was.

"Hi Meggan."

Kitty abandoned her veil on the lid of a recycling bin, and walked toward her former teammate. Meggan had removed her wedge-heeled sandals to stand barefoot on the probably filthy pavement. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, idly playing with the gossamer folds of her sea-green dress, and her impossibly long gold-spun hair was swaying languidly in the breeze. Her gaze was directed at the sky.

Meggan didn't greet her, or visibly respond to her presence. Instead, still transfixed by the sky, she said, "There's no stars here."

Kitty followed Meggan's gaze into the inky blackness. "Because of the light pollution. I miss them, too. I used to like sitting on the roof of the old Mansion, dreaming about other worlds. Since then, I've seen some of those worlds up close. But sometimes… I still miss that view."

When Meggan met her gaze, the missing starfield flashed, briefly, in her almond-shaped eyes. "You're a good singer."

Kitty scoffed. "No, I'm not—but thank you."

Meggan responded to Kitty's scoff with a warm smile. "You're welcome."

Kitty did smile, then, warmed by Meggan's warmth. She didn't realize until that moment how much she'd missed her old friend, who'd opened her home to Kurt, Rachel, and herself so many years before, without a second thought or a shred of doubt.

"What brought you out here?" Kitty asked. "I thought you were enjoying yourself."

"I am," Meggan replied brightly. "But it gets a bit noisy, sometimes. All those voices and feelings."

"I know what you mean," Kitty agreed.

She joined Meggan in another investigation of the invisible stars. It had been more a year since Kitty had seen Meggan, and longer since she'd spent any significant time with her. Their last encounter outside of a mission had been in the weeks following the birth of Meggan's first child. Kurt had accompanied her to London for the visit, making it somewhat of an Excalibur reunion. Thinking back, Kitty wondered why Rachel hadn't gone. Had it been during her time in space, with the Starjammers? Surely they hadn't simply forgotten to invite her. She was, however, certain that she hadn't invited Peter. They hadn't been getting along at the time, and the prospect of spending multiple days within shouting distance of her former boyfriend had been decidedly unappealing. She'd had no such qualms about spending the time with Kurt; Kurt was always a reliable travel companion, quick with a book to borrow or a shoulder to lean on.

Kitty still remembered how beautiful Meggan had looked during that visit. Meggan always looked beautiful, of course; her regular appearance was modeled after Brian Braddock, who was his own kind of beautiful. But she'd looked particularly stunning in the glow of new motherhood, her normal beauty supplemented by a magnificent happiness. At the time, Kitty had looked at Meggan and wondered if she'd ever personally felt that happy. She'd been in the midst of wondering when Kurt had slid his arm around her waist, and squeezed her against his side. Together, they'd watched Meggan try to make the baby coo, and Brian coo at her cooing, until everyone but the baby was making sounds that weren't words, and then, finally, laughing at themselves and each other, Meggan holding the baby and Brian holding Meggan while Kurt held Kitty, and she held him back. For a while, they'd all been beautifully happy.

"Meggan—can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Before you married Brian, did you ever have… doubts?"

Meggan's gaze fell back to earth, landing on Kitty's. "You were there."

"But you and Kurt never…" She couldn't quite bring herself to complete the sentence, and wasn't sure what she was suggesting, anyway—kissing? A romantic dinner? Sex?

"Of course not!" Meggan gasped, touching a scandalized hand to her chest. "What do you take me for?"

"Sorry!" Kitty said quickly. "I didn't mean to suggest… I'm sorry."

Meggan looked up again at the sky, frowned, then looked down at her hands sifting through her dress. Quietly, she said, "I never cheated on Brian. But there was a time, long ago… when I wanted to."

For a moment, Kitty was quiet, humbled by Meggan's honestly. Then she screwed up her courage, and asked, "What stopped you?"

"I loved Brian," Meggan replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Kitty nodded slowly. Obvious or not, Meggan's reply wasn't particularly helpful. "But… what made you _want_ to?"

Meggan regarded her blankly. "Have you _met_ Kurt?"

Kitty opened her mouth, but closed it again when she recognized there was nothing she could possibly say that wouldn't be incriminating, especially in the presence of an empath.

Thankfully, Meggan picked up the slack. On the heels of a small shrug, she said, "But you've known him such a long time—you probably don't see him that way."

"Yeah," Kitty managed. "That must be it."

When Meggan continued, her face and voice acquired a wistful quality. "Kurt was kind, and sweet, and… _fun_. When I wasn't having fun with Brian, I always had fun with Kurt."

Kitty smiled ruefully. "Kurt's always been good for an escape."

The naked toes of Meggan's right foot played with a loose stone, rolling it one way, then the other. "It's more than that, though. Kurt is… special."

Carefully, Kitty said, "If you're willing to tell me, Meggan, I'd like to hear it."

Meggan took a deep breath, and folded her pale, bare arms over her chest. "For a while, teleporting was hard for him—do you remember?"

Kitty nodded. "I remember." It would have been impossible for her to forget. She and Kurt had been injured in the same battle with the Marauders, and she'd spent months watching over him in his coma, initially heartened but eventually maddened by the steady beeping signaling nothing beyond the technical, painful fact of his aliveness.

"Not long after you moved in," said Meggan, "there was an afternoon when everyone was away in the city. Everyone except me and Kurt. I found him exercising in his jungle gym. And he teleported—so he could _tickle_ me. I was flying, and I couldn't stay aloft. I was laughing so hard—like I hadn't done in ages. Kurt fell first. I fell on top. If teleporting didn't hurt him, the fall must have done. But Kurt only smiled. He said it was worth it—just to make me laugh. At first, I thought—that's crazy. This man is crazy! But he meant it. With all his heart—he meant it. I felt that, and I started to change. I became like Kurt—blue, fuzzy. As I changed, I was sure I loved him, and knew just why I did. Kurt knew what it was like to be different. And he made it okay. I wanted to feel how that felt—to feel as warm in my skin as he felt in his."

"That's…" Kitty swallowed, pursed her lips, and tried again. "That's beautiful, Meggan."

Meggan's pink lips formed a toothless smile, hands falling back into her dress.

"Did you ever tell him that?" asked Kitty.

"I think he knows," Meggan replied. "Even so—he's with Rachel, now. I'm sure she whispers plenty of sweet nothings into those cute pointy ears."

Kitty had a hard time imagining that. "I don't know if Rachel's the whispering type…"

"Whatever they do—I hope they're happy. I want Kurt to be happy." Meggan rose onto her toes, pirouetted to face her, and seized both her hands. "You can tell him that, if you want."

Kitty offered a small smile. "I think he knows."

Meggan's smile was considerably broader, and probably more beautiful. "Oh Kitty—you're getting _married_!"

Kitty fought to maintain her own smile, and didn't quite succeed. A question glinted in Meggan's eyes a moment before her neck snapped toward the door, responding to something Kitty couldn't see or hear.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That's our song! I have to go—Betsy will be furious!"

Kitty breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful for the reprieve. "It's okay," she assured her. "Go—I'll be there soon."

In one fluid motion, Meggan gave Kitty a fierce hug, scooped up her shoes, and half-ran, half-flew back into the building. Kitty watched her go, then folded her own arms over her chest; without Meggan standing next to her, the summer breeze felt cooler.

She was watching the pointed toe of her black pump poke at the gravel when she was startled by a voice over her shoulder.

"What were you guys talking about?"

Kitty whirled to face Rachel. "You didn't hear?"

"Between the powerful psychic energy of 12 inebriated and far-too-excited X-ladies, the members of a whole other bachlorette party, and a group of very under-stimulated DMV employees celebrating a woman named Shelia's 40th birthday, I'm not at my best."

"I'm sorry, Ray, I hope it's not—"

"It's fine, Kitty. Normal telepath stuff."

Kitty smoothed the rough gravel under her foot, forced a feeble smile, and said, "We were talking about Kurt, if you can believe that."

"All good things, I'm sure."

"Just, you know, old times."

Rachel walked to her side, and stopped. The onetime Phoenix was wearing an unusually feminine red dress with a loosely swinging A-line hem, paired with accessories that were far more typical—black combat boots and a similarly black leather biker jacket. Her hands were buried deeply in the pockets of her jacket, and the breeze tickled her red bob across her tattooed cheeks.

Now that she'd found her past and present teammate and longtime friend, Kitty wasn't entirely sure if she'd been right to go looking for her. She'd wanted to talk, but found her courage faltering in the shadow of Rachel's physical presence, which didn't feel as physical as it should have. Rachel was there, but not there, visually close, but somehow far away.

Rachel asked, "Did Meggan ever…?"

"Quite emphatically not, apparently."

"Not surprising, I guess. She loves Brian."

"Yeah."

Kitty's voice echoed in the not-quite-companionable silence. For a minute that seemed far longer, Kitty chewed her lip, lifted her heel in and out of her shoe, and fought the urge to re-adjust the ribbon on her jumpsuit. Finally, she said, "Can I ask you something? It's about Kurt, but not… you know…"

"Of course."

"You were there when he… came back… right?"

Rachel gave her a sidelong glance. "You mean—when a bunch of Bamfs melded together, exploded in a flash of light, and became a newly born, definitely adult, totally naked Kurt? Kinda hard to forget that."

All of those details were distressing, but Kitty focused on the most important one. "He was… naked?"

"Very much so."

Kitty shook her head to clear it. "Anyway… He won't talk about what happened, and I was wondering—"

"He won't talk to me about it, either."

Kitty searched for Rachel's gaze, but couldn't seem to find it. "Have you… sensed anything?"

"Between you and me—unless I'm really trying, Kurt's actually hard to read."

"Really? Why?"

"The surface level is clogged with maps."

"Maps?" Kitty questioned.

"From teleporting," Rachel explained. "Kurt has an instinctive understanding of distances, directions, and angles. But he also remembers everywhere he's been, and it builds up inside his mind. Layers upon layers of four-dimensional maps."

"Four-dimensional?"

"He doesn't consciously remember the dimension he teleports through. But his subconscious does. So there are traces of that in there, too."

Kitty blinked at Rachel's cheek. "Whoa, that's—"

"Not as strange as all the locked doors."

"Locked? As in—"

"I call them locked doors, but they're more like dark spots. You know something's there, but you can't see it. It's just… dark."

"Is that okay? Like, should I be worried?"

"He's fine," Rachel assured her. "Everyone has some of those spots. Usually people with trauma. Or training to keep people like me out."

"Kurt has both." The words emerged flatter than Kitty intended. She could sense the conversation taking a turn she'd hoped to avoid, and knew she was about to make it worse.

"Does it bother you?" she asked. "Him not, you know…"

"He might not be doing it on purpose."

Kitty wasn't sure which of them Rachel was trying to convince. There were many times Kurt had intentionally kept Kitty in the dark. A memory from their Excalibur days was typical. Kitty had just finished cutting off Kurt's cast—the legacy of an idiotic fight with Brian about Meggan's supposed infidelity. While testing the balance of his newly liberated leg, Kurt had mentioned receiving a message from an old friend, requiring him to leave almost immediately for Germany. Out of curiosity, and because she hadn't wanted to be left all alone at Braddock Manor, Kitty had asked if she could come. Kurt had responded with an emphatic "no," then apologized, and told it was a "personal" matter. She'd welcomed Kurt home three days later with new bruises, burns, and a couple of cracked ribs. Kitty never found out what happened; upon his return, Kurt had again rebuffed her questions. Soon enough, there'd been new things to worry about, and the matter fell by the wayside—much like the circumstances of Kurt's return from heaven.

"I may not be a telepath," said Kitty, "but I've known Kurt a long time. If there's something he really doesn't want to talk about, he won't. He'll be so open, and then, suddenly, not."

"Pretty much." Rachel's lips twitched, but the humor was lacking.

Kitty struggled to decide whether to touch Rachel's shoulder. She wanted to, and felt her friend needed it, but found herself questioning her right to do so. "Are you guys… okay?"

"We're fine, Kitty. Like you and Peter. Perfectly fine."

Kitty was sure she wasn't intangible, but nonetheless felt the ground disappearing beneath her feet. She shifted her weight to confirm she wasn't falling.

Rachel said, "I know you think it's weird."

"What?"

"Me and Kurt."

"Oh no, Ray, I…"

Rachel finally met Kitty's gaze. "It's okay. It is weird."

Kitty contemplated Rachel's green eyes. Her outward calm was equal parts reassuring and disconcerting. She wasn't sure if Rachel would be able to sense her thoughts about Kurt; she hoped they were enough of a jumble not to be immediately visible. But had Rachel sensed something from Kurt? There was also the possibility Kurt had simply told her. But if so, what had he told her?

"I'm not _against_ you being with Kurt," said Kitty. "I just…"

"Think it's weird," Rachel supplied.

"It _surprises_ me," Kitty amended. "That's all."

"Is there someone else you'd rather Kurt be dating?"

Kitty flexed her jaw. "It's not about that. And I'm not Kurt's keeper."

"But you are his friend," Rachel observed. "Now that Logan's gone, you might be his best friend."

"I'm your friend too, Ray."

For a several heartbeats, their eyes met. Kitty was the first to back down. Studying the pavement under her feet, she said, "I just want you to be happy."

"And you don't think Kurt makes me happy?"

"I didn't say that. But I have noticed you change the subject every time I've tried to talk to you about it."

Rachel had gone back to avoiding her gaze, but did so proudly, facing the darkness with her head held high.

"You may have known Kurt a long time," she began, "but I've known him my whole life. I grew up at the Mansion. With the X-Men. With Kurt. When I was a child, he gave me a Bamf doll. I used to sleep with that doll every night, and hold it when Kurt told me bedtime stories—from books, or his life with the circus, or just things he made up. He'd also bring me presents. Not store-bought things, but things with real meaning. Like a game he'd loved as a child. Or domino masks, to play at being outlaws or superheroes. Doesn't that sound just like Kurt? A real superhero, excited about pretending to be a superhero."

"Yeah," Kitty agreed tonelessly. "It does." It hadn't occurred to her before that moment that Rachel would have known Kurt in her own timeline, before the Sentinels attacked, and changed it forever, stealing her childhood in a moment of devastating carnage. Why hadn't they talked about it before now?

When Rachel continued, there was a wistful quality to her voice that almost reminded Kitty of Meggan, or at least another version Rachel, one who'd lived a very different life from the tattooed, scarred woman standing in front of her. "One time, he took me to the circus. I must have been about six. I was the daughter of two of the most powerful mutants on the planet, and I thought the circus was the most magical thing I'd ever seen. The trapeze artists were my favorite, which of course thrilled Kurt. As they performed, I remember him explaining the moves to me. I loved that—that he thought I was smart enough to see the play behind the play. I loved that he didn't treat me like a child—even though I was one. Afterwards, we went backstage, and met the performers. I swear I thought Kurt was the most famous person in the world, because he knew these trapeze artists at a travelling circus."

Rachel pulled her focus back to the present, and turned to Kitty. "Weird, right?"

"No, Ray, it's…" Kitty had meant to say it wasn't weird, but couldn't quite manage it. It did sound incredibly weird. It also sounded familiar. Rachel's Kurt was a different man, from a different time and place. But he could so easily have been hers.

Rachel cast her eyes back into the night. "For me, it doesn't seem any weirder than anything else. Everything is weird for me, being in this world, having memories of that one. I used to know you as Kate Pryde. You were fifteen years older than me. Now, you're three years younger."

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay. I know how it sounds. But I also know how it feels. Sometimes, when we're in bed, he'll be holding me, and the feel of him on my skin… warm velvet, with Kurt's heartbeat underneath… it takes me back to before the world fell apart. Before my parents were killed. Before I was forced to hunt my friends. It takes me back to when I was happy."

Suddenly, Kitty was sure she'd had too much to drink. She felt confused, and vaguely nauseous, with guilt, and something else—something like sadness, but bigger, and deeper.

"I'm so sorry, Ray." She knew repeating her apology wasn't enough, but it was the best she had to offer. There was no taking back what she felt, and what she'd done—what _they'd_ done. Did Kurt know about the bedtime stories? About the circus? How much did he really know about what he meant to a woman who'd lost everyone, including him, in the most brutal way imaginable?

Whether through telepathy or intuition, Rachel sensed her question. "Kurt doesn't know."

Kitty's heart sunk further into her gut. "Ray…"

"I probably should have told him." Rachel's once-proud gaze dropped to the pavement.

Without conviction, Kitty said, "You still could."

Also without conviction, Rachel replied, "Maybe."

Needing to put some distance between herself and her friend, Kitty released a long breath, and walked toward the building. She leaned back against the brick wall, reassured by its solidity and hers. Rachel remained where she was, staring at her combat boots.

"When we were in Excalibur," said Rachel, "I didn't always have access to my memories. I didn't have those memories of Kurt, or even most of my memories of you. But there were times… You and Kurt were so close. It was like you had some secret language I couldn't crack. I was the telepath, but you and Kurt could communicate with a look. Even when we'd do something together—when the three of us would watch a movie, or play cards, or cook dinner—you'd gravitate to each other. You'd watch the movie leaning on his shoulder, choose his team, sit on his side of the table. Sometimes, I felt jealous. Of you… and of him."

Kitty studied her friend's leather-clad shoulders. "Ray… What are you trying to tell me?"

Rachel shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She turned, then, and favored Kitty with a smile that was warm on her lips, but cold in her eyes. "You're getting married, remember?"

"And that means you can't trust me?"

"Not with some things."

Kitty had just begun to respond when the door slammed open, heralding the arrival of Rogue. "Here you are! We've been lookin' everywhere for you. What're you two doin' out here? Don't tell me you're smoking! (And if so, can I have some?)"

Kitty pushed herself away from the wall. "Sorry to disappoint—just grabbing some air."

"Well get yet butts back in here. Illyana's about to sing 'Constant Craving!'"

Kitty turned to Rachel. "You coming, Ray?"

"I'll meet you in there," she replied.

Kitty hesitated, eyes flickering between Rogue's flushed excitement and Rachel's mysterious calm. Then she gathered up her abandoned veil, and said, "Okay, then. See you soon."

Rachel nodded vaguely as Kitty took Rogue's hand, and let herself be pulled back into the building.

The next hour passed in a surreal blur. More songs were sung, more hugs and laughs and quips were exchanged, more sugary drinks were consumed, and at least a few considerably classier ones, courtesy of a very expensive bottle of champagne delivered with a parchment note signed by one Emma Frost. Kitty laughed and smiled in the appropriate places, but felt increasingly like she were watching her own body from a distance, performing a convincing impersonation of herself. As the clock ticked closer to last call, her performance began to falter. The multi-colored strobe lights, pulsing music, dancers, stripper poles, and seemingly boundless enthusiasm of her friends became more and more overwhelming, and finally intolerable. Kitty escaped again into the hallway, then back into the thankfully empty ladies room.

With the lock securely fastened on the bathroom stall furthest from the door, Kitty sat down fully clothed on the toilet seat, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply through her mouth. It was quiet inside the washroom, but her head was still pounding. She dropped her face into her hands in a futile effort to stop it, feeling her blood throbbing in her temples.

Eventually, she could breathe easier, and her head stopped being gripped in a vise. She flushed the toilet for show, and opened the door.

The washroom was no longer empty. Rogue was there, sitting in a chair in the powder room, facing a brightly lit mirror. She was, appropriately enough, applying powder to her forehead, nose, and cheeks.

Rogue looked up at Kitty's reflection in the mirror. "You okay, Kitty? You seem a little…"

"Just… feeling a bit warm, that's all," Kitty replied. "Everything is a kind of a lot right now. Nerves, I guess."

She tried to smile, but the mirror confirmed her failure. Rogue didn't seem to notice. "I'd be worried about ya if you weren't nervous. It's only natural."

"I guess so," Kitty agreed, dropping into the chair next to Kurt's adopted sister. "What about you? You look…"

Rogue was wearing an emerald green dress with a fluttering hem paired with thigh-high patent leather boots and matching leather gloves. And she was smiling—effortlessly, and carelessly. It seemed like Rogue had been smiling for hours, days, maybe weeks.

"Honestly," said Kitty, "you look insanely happy. You're radiant."

Rogue's newly perpetual smile twittered with amusement. "You know? For the first time in a long time, I am. I s'pose I have you to thank for that, in a roundabout way. The mission you sent Remy and me on really broke down a lotta walls."

"So it's going well with you two, I take it?"

"It is," Rogue confirmed, dreamy gaze investigating the ceiling. "I mean, my powers still not being under my control is… a challenge. But we're good. We're maybe the best we've ever been."

"If you don't mind my asking…" Kitty began. "What changed?"

Rogue paused to consider. "I think… I think I jus' stopped being afraid, Kitty. Nothing with us X-Men goes like it's s'posed to go, anyway… our lives are just one disaster tumbling inta the next… but I think I just decided to snatch up whatever happiness I could find for as long as I could find it. Just like you, I expect."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right…" Kitty was staring at her hands resting in her lap. But she couldn't feel them. They were like stranger's hands, stitched loosely onto her wrists.

The pale shadow of Rogue's body fell across her thighs. "Are you really okay?"

"I don't know…"

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Yes, but… no."

"Okay… you wanna give me a hint?"

Kitty raised her head, met Rogue's close gaze, and said, "I kissed Kurt."

Rogue's eyes widened as her smile fell. "What?"

"Three days ago, Kurt visited me at Belles of Hell. We danced. And… we kissed."

"You kissed him, or he kissed you?"

"Both."

"Oh honey…" Rogue's gloved hands clenched, then opened, and finally reached for Kitty's knees. "What are you gonna do?"

"I have no idea."

"What do you _want_ to do?"

Kitty glanced at her reflection. Her eyeliner was smudged, and her veil was dangling precariously from the hair tangled around her left ear. She pulled the veil the rest of the way off, and placed it on the counter. "I want to be sure."

"What does Kurt want?"

"I haven't talked to him, not since…"

Rogue squeezed her knees. "Maybe ya should. If there's one thing I know about Kurt, it's that he's a pretty good listener."

"He's not the only one I'm worried about."

"Yeah, I can imagine…"

Rogue withdrew her hands, and leaned back in her chair. "Not gonna lie, Kitty. This is a shitty situation."

"Yeah," Kitty agreed, looking down again at her own numb hands.

Rogue twisted in her chair, then stamped one of her leather boots on the floor. " _Dammit_ , I'm so _pissed_ at myself for not seein' it. I been so caught up with Remy… I shoulda seen it. You're not a kid anymore, and... I shoulda seen it."

"If it makes you feel better," said Kitty, "I didn't see it either. Not until three days ago."

"And now you can't unsee it, huh?"

"Exactly," Kitty confirmed.

With sudden passion, Rogue seized Kitty's biceps, pulling her as close as she dared. "So make sure. Do what you gotta do—but make sure. 'Til death is a long time. Even for X-Men."

Despite everything, the side of Kitty's mouth bent with a smile. "Especially for X-Men."

Rogue returned the gesture. "Given your beaus' histories, I guess so."

After a moment, Rogue added, "In the meantime—you're here, with your friends. And we love ya no matter what."

Kitty's struggled to swallow. And when she attempted a deep breath through her nose, it made an embarrassing sound.

Rogue pulled two tissues from the box on the counter, passing one to Kitty and keeping the second for herself. "Don't go cryin' on me now. You'll ruin your pipes for helpin' me on 'Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man.'"

Kitty blew her nose, managed a swallow, and said, "You can't be serious."

Without an ounce of sarcasm, Rogue replied, "I never joke about Loretta Lynn."

Kitty shook her head through a tired but sincere smile, and followed her friend back to the bar. For a while, things were okay. Kitty sat between Rogue and Illyana, drinking a tall glass of water and marveling at Stevie's predictably stunning performance of "I Will Always Love You." She clapped, and laughed, and only cried one more time, when Ororo hugged her at the end of the night. Apologies weren't required; Ororo already understood, and Kitty did, too. Throughout, Kitty kept an eye out for Rachel, but never managed to find her; she'd either left, or was making sure she wasn't seen.

At some point during the early hours of the morning, Kitty finally made it back to her quarters. When the door closed behind her, she stared into the darkness and the quiet, which seemed so much darker and quieter than a few days before. The longer she did so, the less okay she felt. One memory that was really two began to creep up her spine, wrapping itself around her brain, then spreading through her nerves to permeate her limbs, fingers, and toes. Twice, she'd been there, but not there, when Kurt had almost or actually died. Both times, she'd been unable to help him, unable to talk to him, unable to touch him, unable even, to scream, or cry, or swear revenge on the world. And it was happening again. Kurt was asleep down the hall, but it didn't seem to matter; he might as well be locked in Moira's lab or somewhere beyond the reach of space or time, and she might as well be a ghost, passing through his world without touching it, or him. It would be the same tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after that. It was worse, almost, than actually losing him. After she married Peter, she and Kurt would be forever together, and forever apart.

Kitty kicked off her shoes, tugged loose the crushed belt of her jumpsuit, and slid her "bride to be" sash off her shoulder. Then she phased, sending everything that wasn't her own skin fluttering to the ground at her feet. She stepped weightlessly through her pile of clothes and underthings, walked to the window, and looked up the sky—at the stars that had been close, and far, and were now simply gone, lost in the glow of the city.

She feel asleep naked wrapped in the soft folds of her goose down duvet, wishing it was Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you about the emotions! It's not the end, don't worry—happier things ahead (eventually) :)
> 
> Canon stuff: I didn't invent Kurt telling Rachel bedtime stories etc. as a child. This was revealed way back in Uncanny X-Men #188, as a foundational piece of Rachel's backstory. I'm cheating, though, because I'm pretending Kurt doesn't know about it, when the Uncanny scene specifically involves Rachel telling him. I changed it because I felt Kurt knowing this would have veered toward the wrong kind of weird. I know it's still weird the way it is, but I'm hoping Rachel comes off as (mostly) sympathetic—she's been through a lot. And she'll get through this, too—she's a survivor, on a journey to better things (maybe not explicitly in this story, but still).
> 
> If you remember The Wedding Special, you'll notice I rearranged some of the conversations (and cut the fight with Callisto); I also inserted some dialogue from the aftermath of the wedding in X-Men: Gold #30. I was unhappy with how uncritical (most of) the X-ladies were of Kitty marrying Peter. It felt a bit like gaslighting, at times, with Kitty voicing doubts, and her friends continually ignoring/minimizing them. This was my attempt to change that :)
> 
> Other references: Kurt's trip to Germany is introduced in Excalibur #54, and actualized in Marvel Comics Presents #101-108 (an obscure but wonderful Nightcrawler + Wolverine team-up). Kurt and Meggan almost kiss in Excalibur #4. Kurt is killed by Bastion while Kitty is trapped in stasis in the "Second Coming" event (the details with Hank are my own). There are numerous comics flashbacks to Kitty watching over Kurt in his coma, most recently in the 2014 Nighcrawler solo. I'm imaginatively rewriting the visit to see Brian and Meggan's baby, but I know it's a thing that happened, somewhere (I'm sure one of this story's readers will remember it!).
> 
> Next: Kitty and Kurt are *finally* reunited at the rehearsal dinner! Will sparks fly…? And will we get to the bottom of whether Jubilee misses her fangs…? Stay tuned!


	4. The Rehearsal Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty and Kurt are finally reunited. Will it be happily ever after, or are there more trials in store…?

**Chapter Four: The Rehearsal Dinner**

Two days after the bachelor party in Vegas, Kurt was still feeling its effects. His mind was cluttered with distractions, and his usually reliable muscles and joints were noticeably stiff, his reflexes slow. Partly, he was still recovering from getting as drunk as he'd been since returning from heaven. But it was more than a hangover. It had also been two days since he'd realized he loved Kitty Pryde—not as a friend or teammate, but as a woman he wanted to gather into his arms and kiss with all the passion he was capable of. That realization was wreaking its own havoc on his mind and body. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing Kitty's crooked smile, or her radiant one, which was far rarer, but in its rareness, precious. And he could barely touch his own fur without thinking about Kitty's hands in similar or different places, including places he'd only just discovered he wanted her to touch.

At night, he dreamed about her. Mostly, he dreamed about running away with her—away from the wedding, and the Institute, and even the X-Men. He wanted to spend time with Kitty away from the weight of their responsibilities and histories, somewhere they could start fresh, and be the people they'd become. In a snow-capped cabin on the top of a mountain, or a cottage surrounded by dark forest, or a sky-high penthouse in a country they'd never been, he wanted to forget and find himself in her, to twine completely with her warmth, and finally feel whole. Long before he'd traded away his soul, he'd longed for that missing piece—a second stout heart that could shore up his own. He'd known from the beginning Rachel couldn't be that second heart; it was one of the many things he'd tried to keep from her during their months-long affair. There had been a time he'd thought Amanda could be that piece, though looking back, the idea seemed almost ludicrous. He'd grown up with Amanda, and considered her family. Yet she'd never reminded him of home the way Kitty did. Kitty would never deceive him the way Amanda had done; she'd never give up on him, or leave him behind. And his grief at losing Amanda could never rival what he'd felt losing Kitty.

When Kitty had sacrificed herself to save the world—becoming, in the process, trapped in a giant bullet hurtling through space—he'd wished he was lost with her. The thought of her alone in the vacuum of space, neither dead nor completely alive, had been intolerable. In lieu of joining her exile, he'd done more of the thing that was most likely to get him killed—he threw himself into work, volunteering for every mission, and whittling his life down to little besides missions. That had worked for a while, until he'd finally succeeded in almost getting himself killed, nearly bleeding out on the side of a mountain with Scalphunter's fluted hollowpoint lodged in his chest and Logan's badly charred hands working desperately to save him. He'd tried to quit the X-Men several times after that, including the morning of the day he actually died. Kurt didn't regret saving Hope, but continued to wonder how much Kitty knew about that day. If she'd been able to, would she have left with him? And if she had, would he have succeeded in leaving? What would have happened after that? Would they be alive, with the mutant race dying around them? Or would someone else have stepped in to sacrifice their body to the cause? There was no way to know.

While dreaming and daydreaming about Kitty, Kurt had continued to avoid Rachel. Doing so had been surprisingly easy. He'd thought she might be there to welcome him home after the bachelor party, perhaps in his bed, ready to remind him where his duties truly lay. But she hadn't been there, or anywhere else, it seemed. He'd texted her once, received a generic "great, see you later," but now it was later, and they still hadn't seen each other. Kurt would have thought that was strange if he hadn't been grateful for the reprieve. He wanted to talk to Rachel—knew that he _had_ to talk to her. But he wanted to talk to Kitty first. Rachel was her friend too, and she deserved to have a say in what he told her. If Kitty regretted their kiss, he could blame himself, and perhaps save a friendship and a marriage. The cost to himself would be great, but Kurt told himself it didn't matter. His love for Kitty had made his choice for him; whatever happened after that was out of his hands. He would do anything in his power to protect her, even if that meant leaving the team, or the country; if he'd ruined his relationship with Kitty, his adopted home wouldn't be a home at all.

Unfortunately, getting close to Kitty had been harder than avoiding Rachel. He'd been exempt from training after the bachelor party, and by the time Kitty's day had been over, she'd been leaving for her bachelorette party. He'd been on his way to find her the next morning, scant hours before the scheduled start of the wedding rehearsal, when they'd all been waylaid by an emergency alarm. It turned out to be a minor incident; just some teenage vandals who'd been mistaken for a more serious threat by the Institute's security system. But by the time they'd discovered the source of the intrusion, checked and re-checked the security systems, and given their statements to the police, the wedding rehearsal had to be scrapped, and there was a mad scramble to at least make it out to their old home in North Salem for the rehearsal dinner at Harry's Hideaway. For Kurt, the cancelled rehearsal was a godsend; he'd been dreading standing next to Peter while Kitty practiced walking down the aisle. But it also created a new problem—trying to find a moment to talk with Kitty about a decidedly private matter amid a very busy party featuring both their significant others and all their mutual friends.

During the first hour of the party, Kurt hadn't managed to get within a hundred feet of Kitty. She'd fluttered in and out of the bar in her emerald green cocktail dress, while Kurt had been compelled to navigate a treacherous compromise of avoiding Rachel and looking for Kitty while trying not to look like he was avoiding or looking for anyone. His efforts were both helped and complicated by the fact that virtually every other woman in his life seemed especially eager to see him. First, it was Betsy. Moving with typical though unsettling stealth, Brian Braddock's sister announced her presence behind his shoulder by breathing his name into his ear. Kurt greeted her with determined calm and a practiced smile, complimenting her luminous beauty without falling victim to the trap of her plunging neckline. Next it was Meggan, who hugged him both innocently and entirely too vigorously while loudly declaring her happiness about Kitty and himself finding love with longtime teammates that weren't each other. When he saw Ororo heading his way, he seized the opportunity to talk to Jubilee; suddenly, the mall kid turned vampire turned non-vampire seemed like the only female member of the X-Men it was safe to be in the vicinity of.

As he smiled and nodded thoughtfully at the appropriate parts of Jubilee's life updates, Kurt took a moment to wonder why so many of his female friendships were informed by sexual longing or flirtatiousness. Was that what his relationship with Kitty would become? Kitty was one of the few women in his life he'd never performed for. He'd sometimes hidden his thoughts and feelings to deflect her worry, or make her smile, or comfort her. But he'd never been dishonest with her, or coaxed her to look at him the way he sometimes felt he needed women like Meggan, Betsy, or Ororo to look at him. Their dance, in retrospect, felt like flirting, but at the time, he hadn't seen it that way. There'd been no pretext to his asking Kitty to dance; he'd simply wanted to dance with her, and felt confident she'd want to dance with him. With Kitty, things were easy. Or at least, they had been.

His mind also drifted to the last party he'd attended at Harry's—the one celebrating his resurrection. It had been difficult to get close to Kitty that night, too. Because of her recent defection to Scott's squad, she hadn't wanted to talk to Logan. And since Logan had spent most of the night either hugging Kurt's shoulders or lingering protectively close to them, she'd spent most of the night steering clear of them both. Kurt knew Logan had been apologizing, in his own way, for how they'd left things in the hours before he died, not realizing what he should have already known—Kurt had already forgiven him. Enthralled by the brightness of the present and all the sights, sounds, and sensations that had been so much duller in the land beyond the flesh, Kurt hadn't had the strength to care about past transgressions. He'd only wanted to bask in the glow of the friends he'd given up so much to come back to. Logan was one of those friends. Kitty was another.

He hadn't found himself alone until sometime after midnight. And then, finally, he'd found Kitty. She'd been outside, leaning against the building in the shadow of the bar's gently creaking sign. And she'd been crying; though she'd wiped her face quickly when the door opened, her eyes had been red, her sleeve damp. Kurt had approached her cautiously, and spoken her name softly—not her real name, but his own name for her, which had started as a way to gently tease her, and become something very different. For a moment, they'd both hesitated. But only a moment. When he'd opened his arms, she hadn't jumped so much as fallen into them, her hands scrabbling to hold him everywhere at once, like she worried one or both of them might vanish before they had a chance to finish confirming each other's living, breathing warmth. Kurt had hugged her back just as fiercely, burying his face in her hair, and realizing how well he already knew the smell of it, though he couldn't properly describe it past the scent of vanilla and a feeling of home; being in Kitty's arms always felt like coming home. Sometime after that, his mother had appeared, sending the night careening in another direction. When he'd returned to his party following a thorough reintroduction to the painful disadvantages of being flesh and blood, Kitty had been gone.

In the present, it occurred to Kurt he hadn't heard a word Jubilee had been saying for the past several minutes. He had just enough time to wonder what _that_ said about him before catching a glimpse of Kitty across the room, at which point he promptly forgot anything not related to his almost desperate need to be near her.

"… just excited to be de-vamped, you know?"

Kurt covered his obliviousness with a broad smile. "Ja, but Jubilee—don't you miss the fangs, even a teensy bit?"

"Honestly, Kurt? They were a nightmare for kissing. I don't know how you do it."

"Skill," he assured her. "And practice."

Jubilee appeared genuinely impressed. "Must be a lotta practice…"

"I'm so sorry, but there's someone I need to…"

He didn't wait for Jubilee's ascent before ducking past her to head for Kitty, though he did hear her mumble in his wake, "Sure, whatever, go hang with the popular kids…"

Kurt smiled congenially at his many longtime friends and teammates as he wove his way through the crowded room with his tail tucked close to his body, pivoting from regular Bobby's warm greeting to a less confident one from teenage Bobby, then giving a wide berth to teenage Scott, and just managing to avoid the arm Deadpool tried to throw around his shoulders. At some point, he realized he'd lost sight of Kitty, and spun back the way he came, which resulted in him nearly colliding with Rogue.

"Hiya Kurt."

"Anna Marie," he greeted, falling back on his heels and his most dependable smile. "You look—"

"Radiant?" she supplied.

"I was going to say happy, but yes, that too."

"Bein' happy does wonders for a person. Dontcha think?"

"Yes," he agreed, smile tightening. "I've always found that to be true."

"So how are you?"

"How am I?" he echoed.

"Simple question."

"A bit of a _broad_ question."

"Are ya excited about the wedding?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Rogue shrugged. "You're Kitty's friend. And you've known Peter a long time."

"And…?"

"Just sayin'."

Kurt exploited his pupil-less eyes to cast a surreptitious glance at Remy, hovering some distance away. He didn't trust Remy with many things, but had trusted him not to discuss their conversation in Vegas; whatever else he was, Remy had always struck him as a man of honor. But love could be a powerful influence, and Rogue had never been one to take no for an answer.

With performative casualness, his adopted sister asked, "Were you lookin' for someone?"

"No," Kurt replied, looking deliberately away from the spot Kitty had been. "Why?"

"'Cause you look like you're lookin' for someone."

"Well, I'm not."

He blinked calmly into her green-eyed gaze, strengthened by his anger at Remy, and at himself for making the mistake of trusting him.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Rogue backed down first. She sipped her Dark 'n' Stormy and asked, "Not drinkin' tonight?"

Kurt raised his very obvious glass of water. "Would you believe me if I said it was vodka?"

"You're a terrible liar, so—no."

Fully committing to the part of a man who definitely wasn't looking for anyone, Kurt waited patiently for Rogue to take another long sip of her drink. At last, she said, "Heard you guys had quite the time th'other night."

"I'm surprised Remy can recall it," Kurt quipped.

"He says he's surprised you could walk," his sister quipped back.

Kurt reignited his protective smile. "I have excellent muscle memory."

"That's true, at least."

He made another quick survey of their immediate surroundings, then said, in a lower voice, "It's also true I'd had a lot to drink in Vegas."

Rogue's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't talkin' about Vegas."

"Oh." Kurt blinked less confidently, and shifted his weight. "Well… Never mind then."

"Right," Rogue agreed, eyes still narrowed.

"This has been…"

"Sure..."

"I'll see you…?"

"Guess so."

As he made good his retreat, Kurt experienced a pang of regret. Whatever Rogue knew or didn't know, he was sure she meant well. Years ago, long before he'd learned to think of her as a sister, he'd flirted with her; once, he'd even made the mistake of teasing her with a kiss, and gotten himself dropped in a lake as payback. Since recognizing their shared connection to Mystique, their relationship had been different. Irrespective of his doubts about Remy, Kurt was sure Rogue was someone he could trust, maybe even with a secret as large as what had happened in Vegas and at Belles of Hell before that. But it was no longer his secret to tell. Kitty deserved a say in who knew what, when, and how, and he couldn't grant her that say until he talked to her.

He spotted Kitty again near the door, speaking with Illyana. From a discrete distance, he followed them outside. But when he stepped into the mild summer air, both women were nowhere to be seen. There was no point in investigating further; with Illyana's abilities, they could be virtually anywhere, on earth or beyond it. But he still spent a long moment staring helplessly into the night, hoping he might be mistaken.

"Hello, Kurt."

Kurt nearly started at the sound of Ororo's voice. The fact he hadn't noticed her standing next to him, very near to where he'd found Kitty a year before, reflected the depth of his distraction. Ororo wasn't an easy woman to miss, whether she was wearing her uniform or her current imperial purple dress, which clung and draped in all the right places, silky folds gleaming in the moonlight. Her equally gleaming silver hair was loose on her equally silky shoulders, which were always carried high and proud, fitting for a goddess or the queen of Wakanda, both of which she'd recently been.

"Hello, Ororo. You look beautiful, as always."

"As always, the feeling is mutual."

"Why do I feel that undercuts my own compliment?"

"Because you're not standing where I am."

Kurt looked down at himself. He was dressed far more casually, in a pair of slim navy slacks and a black v-neck t-shirt. "And here I was, thinking I looked tired."

"Rachel must be keeping you busy."

"Something like that." He could see a blurry image of Rachel through the beveled glass window on the door of the bar. She was, improbably, having a conversation with two different versions of the woman who'd been her mother in another world.

"So how is it?"

Kurt looked at her. "How is what?"

A subtle smile played on Ororo's stately lips. "It. With a telepath."

Kurt cast another glance into the bar. "She can probably hear you."

"Then I'd suggest you answer truthfully."

He gazed up into Ororo's blue eyes, and said, "Revealing."

"Sounds tiring. Or exciting."

"Yes. And yes."

For a long moment, they continued to study each other. Then Ororo's smile twitched, and became genuine. Kurt released a silent sigh, glad she understood. He didn't want to talk about his relationship with Rachel. He was, however, always happy to see the playful side Ororo usually kept hidden, but sometimes, if he was lucky, and if he tried hard enough, allowed him to see. He wished she could be that carefree all the time; like so many of them, Ororo had been forced to grow up far too quickly.

Ororo gestured toward a bench beneath a large window set with colored slabs of the same beveled glass. "Sit with me?"

Kurt nodded; even if he'd known where to find Kitty, he'd always had a hard time saying no to Ororo.

They sat for another long moment, considering the night. The party echoed dully, but the door remained closed. Except for the potential prying minds of telepaths, they were alone.

Ororo broke the silence to say, "This wedding has me thinking."

"About?"

"Relationships past, relationships present."

Kurt eyed her, but Ororo was looking elsewhere, surveying the darkness beyond the gentle glow of the light from the bar.

"Are you thinking about you and T'Challa?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you… want to talk about it?" Kurt had no idea what insight he could possibly offer into Ororo's very well-publicized marriage to, and separation from, one of the most powerful, rich, and handsome men in the world. But he was at least willing to listen.

Ororo shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about. I know what happened, and why. But… I don't want that for Kitty."

Kurt curved his tail forward to lean back in his seat. He hadn't expected that particular turn in the conversation. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't see a lot of you and T'Challa in Kitty and Piotr."

"Not now, perhaps," Ororo agreed. "But Kitty is entering a new phase of her life. She's becoming our public face. Much as I had to become a public face of Wakanda."

With belief, Kurt said, "If anyone can handle it, it's Kitty."

"I don't worry about her," Ororo replied. "I worry about him. Peter has always been… private."

Kurt looked down at his blue feet and the spade of his tail twitching above them. "He doesn't have to make speeches to Congress or the UN. He just has to be there for her."

"And _with_ her. There has already been scrutiny. In the coming weeks, there will be more."

"You think there will be scrutiny of Piotr?"

"I think Kitty is a powerful woman in a powerful role. There has always been an appetite for bringing such women down. And those who wish to do so will use anything at their disposal to achieve it."

"Most of Piotr's past is not on the public record."

"Some of it is."

When Kurt glanced over his shoulder into the bar, it was easy to spot Peter. His thick, triangular body looked like a child's drawing of a superhero. "Piotr looks the part, at least."

"I sometimes wonder if that's why Kitty chose him."

Kurt recalled a news photograph of Kitty and Peter arriving in DC, and tried to picture himself in Peter's place. The headline become very different, as did the photograph itself; he couldn't imagine himself in that type of public setting without inspiring some sort of incident. If he'd been at Kitty's side, there was a strong possibility she never would have made it to the hearing.

Ororo continued, "Kitty could have chosen anyone to accompany her to Washington. Other X-Men could have offered better, more discrete protection. But she chose Peter."

"Perhaps she wanted someone she felt she could trust." The words were a test; he was trying to see if he could convince himself to believe them.

"Perhaps."

"Or perhaps… She felt Piotr looked best at her side."

"Perhaps."

Kurt moved on to imagining Kitty in her wedding dress, stranding next to Peter in his matching wedding finery. Kurt's own grey-blue suit had, as usual, been altered to accommodate his tail. But Peter's suit had been custom made to accommodate the Russian's tremendous height and muscular breadth.

"Doesn't it seem like yesterday?"

When Kurt looked at her, she explained, "Kitty. Joining us here, with the X-Men."

Given that he was now hopelessly in love with the woman who'd been a thirteen-year-old girl when she'd first joined the X-Men, to him, it felt like a great deal of time had passed. "A lot has happened since then."

"Yes," Ororo agreed. "But much has stayed the same."

Ororo sounded comforted by her sentiment, but Kurt was remembering his long hours recovering in the infirmary several months before, when he'd nearly been killed by an angry mob for no less than the fourth time in his life.

Quietly, he asked, "Do you think it will ever get better?"

"With Kitty to lead us, anything is possible."

Kurt was sure that was true. But it wasn't particularly helpful—not when he was still wrestling with how wrong he'd look next to Kitty on the front page of the _New York Post_.

"Is everything all right?"

Kurt's blinked himself out of a fog. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lost in thought, but it had clearly been long enough to raise questions he wasn't in the mood to answer.

"Of course," he replied, forcing a smile.

Ororo covered his hand with hers. "Kurt—I know I'm not Logan. But I am still your friend."

Kurt studied her slender brown fingers laced with his thick blue ones. "If I thought it was important, I'd tell you."

"You've always been a terrible liar."

His apparent reputation for unerring truthfulness made him wonder how well any of his friends truly knew him. "Thankfully," he said, summoning a more convincing smile, "I have other talents."

"Like evasiveness," Ororo observed.

Kurt met her gaze, challenging her to challenge him. If she was truly his friend, she'd let the issue rest.

She was, and she did. But her next tack was almost as dangerous. "I've also been thinking about missed opportunities."

Kurt went back to studying their joined hands. There was a time he would have longed to hear he say that—entire months when he'd been kept awake thinking about Ororo's touch, wondering if it was worth the risk. "It's never been the right time."

"Was that all it was?"

Kurt's eyes drifted back into the bar, hoping against hope for another glimpse of Kitty. "There was also…"

"It would have changed things."

"Yes," he agreed.

"Then perhaps it was for the best."

"Perhaps."

She withdrew her fingers slowly, stroking the back of his hand as she went. Without regret, Kurt let her fingers go. Ororo was right about one thing; she was still his friend, and always would be. But some things had changed. Though there was a part of him that would always wonder about those missed opportunities, he wasn't the man he'd been, in more ways than one.

"Are you coming back inside?"

"In a moment," he replied. "You go ahead."

Ororo hesitated, but ultimately obeyed his wishes, leaving him to his newly melancholy thoughts.

After a time, a shadow spilled over his feet. Kurt looked up to see the last person he expected.

"Katzchen."

"Kurt." Her face was unreadable, but at least she was there. That alone felt like a miracle.

He stood up to greet her properly, but before he could open his mouth, the door thudded open, expelling a shuffling, giggling Quentin Quire and Trevor Hawkins, also known as Eye-Boy.

When he saw them, Quentin skidded to a stop. "What is this, the smoking area?"

" _No_ ," Kitty replied, frowning at her former charge. "Why does everyone keep asking that?"

"Everyone?" Trevor echoed, a dozen eyes blinking.

"Never mind," said Kitty. "But no, it's not the smoking area, and no, I don't know where you can get something to smoke."

Under his breath, Quentin mumbled, "Not like I'd ask _you_ , anyway..."

"I _heard_ that."

Kurt leaned in to faux-whisper, "I believe you were meant to."

Kitty glowered at him, then back at Quentin. "Don't make me regret inviting you to this party."

"Colossus invited me."

"You'll like his regret even less."

That finally made an impact. Quentin gathered up Trevor, and scuttled back inside, while Kurt looked at Kitty and tried not to smile. There was nothing like watching her in teacher mode to remind him how much time had passed. Long ago, she would have been the one attending parties she was almost certainly too young for, and precociously needling her elders. Not him, of course—he'd always humored her, sometimes more than he should have. But it had usually been worth it, if only to get a rise out of Scott, and occasionally Logan, until they hadn't been able to deny her anything, either.

Once the door closed, Kitty released a noisy sigh, and ran a heavy hand through her hair.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked. Even Quentin didn't tend to set her off quite that badly.

"Those two don't usually get along," Kitty replied, frowning at the door. "They're up to something, I know it."

"Okay..."

"Also, I just had... kind of an intense conversation with Illyana."

Kurt released a low breath. "I don't wish that on anyone."

"It's fine." She shook her head to clear it, and turned to him. "But—we need to talk."

"I know," he agreed. "How should we—"

"Not here. Can we go someplace… private?"

"How private?"

"Private enough not to be bothered by telepaths or teenagers with a hundred types of vision."

"Of course."

He gestured over his shoulder, and Kitty followed him around the corner of the building. Teleporting was useful for escapes, but it wasn't exactly stealthy; it would be awkward if someone heard (or smelled) them leaving. Once they were both satisfied they were sufficiently out of range of all but the most unavoidably attentive party guests, Kitty accepted his proffered hand.

A "BAMF" of combusting air brought them to the foot of a three-tiered fountain at the center of a deserted town square. The area was dimly lit by the warm yellow of refurbished Victorian streetlights and cooler blue lights set into the base and tiers of the fountain; both lights wavered on the cobblestones near the fountain, dancing in the shadows of the rhythmically burbling water. Kurt had been there many times before, in stumbling late night walks with Logan, and once, equally late at night with his skin equally warmed by alcohol, he'd been there with Ororo.

The jump was at the upper limit of Kurt's usual range with a passenger. As a result, the landing was slightly messy, for Kitty if not himself; Kurt caught her under her arms as she swayed, briefly, against his side. Usually, Kurt was heartened by how well Kitty had adapted to teleporting; there was a time he'd hated taking her, knowing he couldn't help hurting her. But at that moment, he almost wished she hadn't adapted quite so well; when she straightened and stepped away from his body, Kurt acutely felt the loss of her warmth.

"I'm sorry," he said. "As always."

"As always," she replied, "you don't need to apologize. It's not like you can help it."

"Still."

As Kitty absorbed their surroundings, Kurt gestured toward the direction they'd traveled. "Harry's is just under a mile southeast of here."

Kitty regarded him quizzically. "You really know that, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Rachel says your mind is full of maps. From teleporting."

Kurt blinked. "You were talking about my mind. With Rachel."

"Nothing bad," Kitty said quickly. "Just the maps the thing."

Kurt didn't believe her, but knew it was his own fault. If he hadn't been keeping things from Rachel, he wouldn't be worried about what she'd seen or discussed with Kitty. Then again, Rachel was clearly also keeping things from him; they'd never discussed the structure of his mind. Was it really filled with maps? That would explain why he never got lost, and why he knew exactly how far they'd traveled a moment before. It seemed like such an odd thing to hide, which made him wonder—how many larger facts or secrets had Rachel seen, and never told him?

Kitty approached the fountain, and ambled around the edge of it. Kurt followed her, transfixed by the cool light rippling in her green dress and pouring over the delicate architecture of her bare shoulders. When she'd first cut her hair, he'd privately mourned the loss of her soft auburn curls. But the shorter hair suited her just as well. Better, even, since it spoke of who she was in that place and time. She wasn't Sprite, or Shadowcat—she was Kitty Pryde, leader of the X-Men. Kurt wasn't sure when he'd first known he'd follow her anywhere. But he was sure it was long before their first dance.

He paused when Kitty did, though he didn't join her in gazing toward the fountain. He was too entranced by his new reaction to her familiar face, not wanting to miss a moment after taking so many for granted, and just in case there weren't many moments left.

She studied the burbling water, crossed her arms, and massaged her bare biceps. At last, she released another noisy sigh. "God, Kurt—it's been a long fucking week."

"Believe me, I know," he sympathized.

"I've been wanting to talk to you, but then you called in sick, and then there was the bachelor party, and then the _bachelorette_ party…"

"I tried to find you this morning," he said. "The alarm went off on my way to your quarters."

"You should have teleported."

"I _did_."

"Looks like we're pretty star-crossed, huh?"

The phrase warmed his chest; it was lovers who became star-crossed.

He grew warmer when Kitty turned to him, and affixed him with a very deliberate gaze. "You look… good."

Kurt's reply was easy, because it came from the heart. "And you look just as beautiful as you did soaring weightless on the end of my arm."

Kitty pursed her lips, wet them, then dropped her eyes to the cobblestones at her feet. "I guess that answers one of my questions."

He joined her in the light of the fountain as he said, "Was there really any doubt?"

Still avoiding his gaze, Kitty offered a small shrug. "You've gotten carried away before."

"Never with you."

In an uncharacteristically small voice, she said, "I wish you had. I really wish we'd done any of this before now."

He'd been thinking the same thing—how they'd had so many chances to see each other in a different light, but hadn't, until virtually the worst possible moment.

"Why now?" she asked.

Kurt considered the question. "Maybe… it's the thought of losing you."

Kitty looked at him. "I'm not _going_ anywhere."

"Aren't you?" he questioned. "You're giving up your job, you're moving in with Piotr… Did you tell him about my visiting you at the bar?"

Kitty's gaze faltered, part of her lower lip disappearing into her mouth. "No."

"Then you really think he'd be okay with me stopping by for movie night, and you falling asleep on my chest?"

Kitty's rounded shoulders matched the defeat in her voice. "No." Her tone was barely more hopeful when she asked, "You think Rachel would be okay with it?"

"I don't know, but… I wouldn't. Not now."

"What do you mean?"

"Rachel knows. She must know."

"Did you—"

"I didn't have to. In fact, I tried _not_ to, but…" In his mind's eye, he saw the haunting darkness of Rachel's gaze three days before. "I'm sure she knows."

"Oh God…" Kitty stumbled forward as though battling another wave of nausea, and sat down clumsily on the wide stone ledge at the base of the fountain. "I need to talk to her…"

"Please, don't," he urged. "At least, not right away. I'll handle it. Or, more likely, she will."

"I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault."

Kitty looked up at him with a sheen in her eyes. "She really cares about you, Kurt."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" There was an edge to his voice he regretted, but couldn't help. He didn't blame Kitty for anything that had happened; even if he hadn't been incapable of blaming her for anything, he knew he'd chosen to kiss her back. But that still made them accomplices in hurting their friends.

He wanted to walk, or run, or teleport into the sky and feel the bracing pull of gravity on his chest, punishing him for defying the laws of physics. But his desire to be close to Kitty was stronger. So he sat down next to her at the edge of the fountain, tail looping over his knee to avoid the spray of the water.

Facing the darkness that was never truly dark for his always-glowing eyes, he said, "I could ask you the same thing—why now?"

"I guess… I'm worried about losing you, too."

Kurt wanted to assure her he wasn't going anywhere. But of course he couldn't, because he wasn't sure of that. Whether he could stay would depend, in part, on what happened that night, and whether there was a wedding the next day.

Kitty said, "I've been having these… dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Dreams about you."

Kurt cocked a bravely hopeful eyebrow. "Good dreams…?"

"I've been dreaming about you dying."

His face fell. "Oh. So… not good. (I hope.)"

"Definitely not good," Kitty confirmed.

In lieu of what he wanted to promise, he met her hazel gaze and said, "I'll always be here for you, Katzchen."

"It's not enough. I want… I need…"

As she trailed off, she dropped her eyes to her hands, opening and closing in her lap. Kurt studied her hands with his own fists tightly closed, fighting the urge to still her fingers in his.

After a moment, Kitty said, "You can't imagine how weird it was, when you were dead, and the school was infested with tiny versions of you."

"I really can't," Kurt agreed.

"I hated it so much. It was like you'd been taken away, and replaced with these tiny mockeries, who were like funhouse mirrors of you, but so obviously… incomplete."

Kurt couldn't quite deny the lopsided smile that tugged at his lips. "I assure you—the original has no such deficiencies."

"Wow," Kitty ironized, raising her eyes to his. "Did you just respond to me pouring my heart out by making a dick joke?"

"In my defense—the Bamfs are terrible for my reputation."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Kitty quipped. "Rachel says you gave everyone quite the show when you came back."

Kurt cleared his throat, regretting his earlier jokes. "Yes, well… that wasn't really my _choice_ …"

"I swear, it seems like I'm the only member of the team who's never seen you naked."

In response to his silence, Kitty shot him a look. "Are you… doing the math on that?"

"No," he lied.

Kitty shook her head to clear it. "I'm so derailed, now. I don't even know what I was—"

"You were talking about losing me," he reminded her seriously. "And not wanting to." Despite his role in derailing her, he very much wanted to hear the rest of her thoughts on the subject.

"Right…" Kitty took a breath, released it, then continued. "The worst part was, even though we couldn't really communicate with the Bamfs, it sort of seemed like they knew us. And there'd be times when they'd do something so strangely specific, it really made me wonder…"

"Bobby told me about the… pregnancy… incident."

"That was... a whole thing." She smoothed her dress down her thighs before curling her hands around her knees. "I should have told you."

"I can understand you not wanting to relive it."

"For a lot of reasons," Kitty agreed. "I started dating Bobby right after that."

Before he could decide what to say, she added, "But that's not on him. Honestly—Bobby was one of the better boyfriends I've had. And he was in the closet, trying to convince himself he was straight. What does that say about my taste in men?

Kurt had even less idea how he should respond to that, but decided to try, anyway. "Maybe it says—friends can be as important as lovers."

Softly, Kitty replied, "Maybe."

In the lull that followed, Kurt massaged his own hands, still trying to resist the urge to reach for Kitty. A week ago, he would have done so easily, even automatically. Nothing seemed easy anymore.

Eventually, she continued. "When the Bamfs... saved me... I was pretty sure there was something more going on, but I didn't know what, and I didn't dare to hope…"

With sudden energy, Kitty pushed herself to her feet, and took several steps away from the fountain. Kurt remained seated, admiring her pale skin glowing in the dark.

Still facing the night, she said, "I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you before."

"Okay." It was the easiest thing he'd ever agreed to; he would have said yes to anything to keep her from walking any further away.

"When you died, I was stuck in that stupid tube, and I couldn't even… They had to tell me in writing. Hank had to write 'Kurt is dead' on a piece of paper and hold it up to the glass. God, it was…" She paused to collect herself, weight shifting from one foot to the other. When she continued, her voice was quieter. "I wanted to cry, or scream, or tear the lab apart with my stupid, intangible hands. I wanted to know how it happened, wanted to see you, wanted to… to..."

She paused again, head still lowered, no longer seeming to care about the hair that had fallen into her eyes. Then, in a voice so quiet Kurt might have missed it if his whole world hadn't become the sound of that voice, she said, "But I couldn't be with you. I couldn't even go to your funeral."

Kurt hadn't thought of that—hadn't properly considered how the circumstances of his death might affect her. He'd assumed she'd be sad, but he hadn't realized she'd react like that—with the same crippling mixture of guilt, anger, and hopelessness he'd felt after losing her.

He stood up, and closed the distance between them. "I'm so sorry."

"You were _dead_ , you couldn't—"

"I'm still sorry."

Kitty was still focused on the cobblestones as she said, "I really want to touch you right now. If it was a week ago, I'd just do it. But now, if feels—"

Kurt stopped her by reaching for her shoulder, fingers curling gently but surely over her luminescent flesh. It was something he'd done a hundred times before, without a second thought. Yet each curve and bone felt newly precious, her skin newly electric. When she bent her cheek to sweep her lips across the back of his hand, it sent a rush of static up his arm.

His hand slipped free as she pivoted to face him, and finally raised her eyes, at least as far as his chest. He mourned the loss of contact until she stepped closer, and took both his hands in hers, turning his fingers one way, then the other, like they were new to her, too.

He watched her touching him as he asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I wish we had more _time._ I wish…"

"We'll still have training, and the team."

"It's not the same."

"No," he agreed.

"Can we…"

She stepped closer, so close that each deep breath brushed her chest against his.

"We shouldn't." It was perhaps the worst lie he'd ever told; as he said it, he was already inching toward to her warmth.

"I need to know."

She released his hands to lay both palms on his chest, fingers stirring his fur against his shirt. Kurt wondered if she knew what that did to him. She'd learn very quickly if he made the sound he wanted to, but didn't, distracting himself by cupping her cheek, and then anointing her hair, fingers stroking through the deliciously soft, short locks. Her own hands were sliding down his body, heavy, slow, and wonderful, until she reached his hips, and curled them into the small of his back. Then she begged him closer, hands squeezing lower, almost to the top of his tail, before moving up again, maddeningly tickling his fur under his clothes.

The hands holding her neck and hip felt the tilt of her face and pelvis into his, until finally, she was as close as he'd wanted her to be for five heartsick days, secure in the grip of his arms, lips, and tail. He released the moan he'd denied into her mouth, no longer caring if she knew how badly he wanted her, since the way she gasped and trembled when his tail contracted around her thigh made it abundantly clear she wanted him just as badly. Kitty was exploring every inch of his lips and tongue, her own tongue avoiding his fangs, then testing their sharpness, from one angle, then another. He let her, and loved it, eager to show her all the other things his tongue and fangs could do, somewhere far more horizontal and private, free of the scratch and tickle of clothes. He was already imagining the thrill and wonder of her hard, smooth curves sliding against his nakedness, could already viscerally picture her spine arching into his, not unlike it was doing now, but more so, bodies joined in shuddering abandon.

They parted breathlessly, but didn't go far. Kitty's face remained buried in the crux of his neck, her breath hot and faintly damp in his fur as she trailed her cheek and mouth across his skin. His own face was pressed against her temple, nuzzling her hair and inhaling the scent of home.

"Kurt…"

"Ja…"

There was nothing else to stay. The rightness was undeniable. With his arms and tail wrapped around Kitty's body, everything was better, easy, and nearly perfect. For the first time in a very long time, he felt almost whole.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, echoing the question he'd posed before their kiss, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Kurt knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to scoop Kitty up in his arms, and make good his dream of running away with her, beyond her wedding, beyond their friends, beyond the X-Men, beyond all the things that had kept them from seeing what they might have had years ago if they hadn't been blinded by history, consumed by crises, and parted by death.

Lips moving against his jaw, Kitty whispered, "I'll do whatever you want."

With a shock of realization, Kurt knew she was serious. At that moment, she'd gladly accept his invitation to run away from their lives. For a while, it might work. For a day, maybe a week, a month, even, she'd be happy, and so would he, luxuriating in their rebellion and lost in re-discovering each other. But then she'd want to go back to her life—to the X-Men, and her battle with Congress, and all the many things she'd left undone. Except that after they ran away, going back to those things would be hard, maybe even impossible. The friends and lovers they'd betrayed might leave the team, or compel them to leave in their stead. The larger consequences would be worse. He wasn't the only one who needed Kitty; they were all depending on her to lead them.

For himself, Kurt could almost believe it was worth it. He'd long since accepted the conditions of his life. He knew it would never be normal—that he would never be free of ugly stares, and violence, and the limitations his gifts could never truly make up for. But he wanted something better for Anole, Rico, Trevor, and all the other mutants who couldn't hide their obvious difference. And his own selfish desires were putting that at risk. In time, Kitty would see that. Maybe not right away, but soon enough. At some point, she'd realize it was his fault her world had fallen apart, because he'd convinced her to run away from it when he should have been the voice of reason. And then neither of them would be happy, because after that, they wouldn't be whole, or even together. They'd both be homeless, and the wrong kind of lost.

Slowly, but decisively, Kurt drew back. "I want you to be happy."

The hope shining in Kitty's eyes put another wide crack in his already-breaking heart. "And…?"

"And…" He swallowed hard as he stepped fully out of her reach, steeling himself for one of the hardest things he'd ever had to say. "Piotr could make you happy."

Kitty blanched. "What?"

Kurt heard his own voice from a distance as he said, "You've loved Piotr almost since the moment you met him. And you've come back to him more than once—there must be some reason."

"I don't want Peter. Not anymore."

"You think that now, but—think about what you're suggesting. Think about what it would be _like_."

"It would be us," Kitty insisted. "Like we've always been. But different. _Better_."

"I don't think you're hearing me."

Kitty's gaze was hot above a defiant frown. "Then stop talking in stupid riddles."

"I can't give you the things you want. The things you _need_."

"Such as?"

"The chance to be the person you can be—the person you _want_ to be. The ability to walk down the street or into the halls of power hand-in-hand with your lover and not worry about being attacked by an angry mob."

Kitty scoffed. "You think I can't handle a few bigots?"

"It's more than a few. I should know—they almost killed me less than four months ago."

"If I'd been there, they wouldn't have."

"Or—you would have been hurt, too."

Kitty's frown flexed and trembled. "You're ignoring the most important part. Which is the fact that you _didn't_ die. And then made some comment about how you _couldn't_ die. Which you keep refusing to explain."

Her words put another crack in his heart, yet strengthened his resolve. He couldn't even offer her all of himself, since it was no longer his to have or to give.

Flatly, he said, "I won't make you happy, Katzchen."

"You just… decided this?" Kitty demanded. "All on your own?"

"I can't make your decisions for you," he said. "But I also won't help you make bad ones."

"You're saying you don't want to be with me." It wasn't a question so much as an accusation. When he didn't immediately reply, she promoted, "Well?"

Anna Marie and Ororo had been right; though he wasn't always forthcoming, he was usually a bad liar, especially with people he loved. He overcame his weakness with the same trick he'd often used to find a smile amid despair—by transforming one type of passion into another, for the good of the same people he loved.

Squarely meeting Kitty's hazel gaze, and with all the conviction he could muster, Kurt said, "I don't want to be with you."

"Oh." Kitty swallowed, eyes flickering before they dropped, defeated, to her feet. Kurt had to bite his cheek with his fangs to stop himself from taking his words back.

With supreme force of will, he corralled his rebellious lips, and said, "You were right. I did get carried away. You know me—drinking, dancing… Then, I got carried away thinking it was something it wasn't. But it was just a kiss—so was this. It's not enough to throw away a chance at happiness."

Kitty raised her head to stare at the center of his chest, deathly silent. Kurt knew what it felt like to have a hole in his chest; it had happened before, and sent him to heaven. The heat of Kitty's eyes felt similar. 

"Katzchen…?"

"I'm just… so angry," Kitty managed, words requiring a visible effort. "And hurt, and confused, and… angry."

"You have every right to be. It's my fault. I can even speak to Piotr if you—"

Kitty interrupted him with a humorless laugh. "He'd kill you. If you told him that—that you kissed me, without my explicit permission—I think he might actually kill you. The fact you're his friend would only make it worse."

"I don't care. It's my responsibility."

Kitty confronted him with fresh passion. "Stop talking about this like it's something _you_ did. _I_ kissed _you_. I _wanted_ to kiss you. I wanted to _keep_ kissing you, and I've been wanting to kiss you again every moment since it happened."

 _Me too_ , he thought, then said, "What we want isn't always what we need."

"You want me to marry Peter."

"I want you to do what will make you happy."

"Again with the fucking riddles. What the _hell_ Kurt—what is it you think you're _protecting_ me from?"

He thought, but didn't say, _I'm protecting you from me_.

Unable to penetrate his silence, Kitty spun on her heel, and aimed her fury at the fountain. "Fuck! I can't _believe_ this. I can't…"

"So what now?" she questioned, whirling again to face him. "We go back to the party, and pretend like nothing happened? Then you hand Peter a ring to put on my finger, saying I'll stay with him forever?"

"I can't tell you what to do," he replied. "But I won't be the cause of your regret. I love you too much for that."

Kitty's tone was level, though somehow more furious when she said, "You do not get to say that word to me."

"What?"

"Love."

"I'm sorry." The apology sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

"I don't care."

In that moment, Kurt's heart broke fully in half. He couldn't imagine anything worse than Kitty not caring. "I'm sorry," he repeated, apologizing to both her heart and his.

For a long, awful minute, they stood there, stuck and stewing in a gulf of shared anger and hurt that all their considerable powers afforded them no means to escape.

Finally, Kurt asked, "Do you want me to take you back?"

"I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

Her turn of phrase wasn't lost on him; he had been responsible for denying at least one of her choices. But what did it matter, if the choice was so obviously bad? And it _was_ a bad choice. It must be, for him to be willing to break his own heart, and lose the best home he'd found in a lifetime spent searching for some place to belong.

He didn't touch her when they teleported. He didn't really need to, though it meant he had to concentrate, remembering her precise weight and shape, and making sure it came with him, one last time.

Their return to the bar was something of the blur. Kurt was dimly aware of Kitty stalking away from him, and his right hand stretching belatedly toward her retreating form, making a final, feeble effort to either stop her from leaving, or stop himself from letting her go. Then she was gone, and he was alone. For a moment, anyway.

Kurt felt the tickle of Rachel's mind, and turned toward the spot he knew she'd be, accepting that his already disastrous night was about to get even worse.

"Hello, Rachel."

"Kurt. We need to talk."

"Ja—I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger and the heartbreak! But won't the resolution be that much more satisfying after all these setbacks...? ;)
> 
> Canon things: The rehearsal dinner takes place in X-Men: Gold #30, prior to the wedding scene(s). I got everyone out of the actual wedding rehearsal because that would have been entirely too much drama (even for me). Kurt gets shot by Scalphunter in X-Men v.2 #205, though I screwed up my chronology a little there; Kitty hadn't yet gotten lost in space when that happened (and I should really know better, because I wrote an old fic in which she visits him while he's recovering and everything!). Kurt does try to quit the X-Men several times after that, most notably when he finds out about Scott sanctioning Logan's kill-happy X-Force squad at the beginning of "Second Coming" (this is why Kurt dies angry at Logan, and most of the X-Men, really). Kurt nearly gets killed by (another) angry mob in X-Men: Gold #8. Kurt teases Rogue with a kiss way back in Uncanny X-Men #192. Kurt's resurrection party is in Amazing X-Men #6 (the hug with Kitty is my own). Betsy/Kurt is just a vibe; at times, I've thought they'd be an interesting couple. I've also got a soft spot for Ororo/Kurt, though I suck at writing them as an actual couple. I can write them flirting all day though ;) You might notice I've been peppering this story with hints about Kurt's missing soul (which he traded away to escape from heaven in Amazing X-Men #1-5). I'm still miffed that this potentially interesting (if poorly explained) plot point didn't go anywhere; it'll come up again in the next/final chapter.
> 
> Next: The non-wedding! And what happens after that! It'll be worth waiting for, I promise :)


	5. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which truths are told, and choices are made...

**Chapter Five: The Wedding**

Kitty was staring at herself in the mirror. At least, she supposed it must have been her. She recognized the color of her eyes, and the shape of her nose, but beyond that, there was little that felt familiar. Her cheeks were entirely too pink, her mascara-fanned eyes seemed twice their normal size, and an impossible assortment of pins, sprays, and heated wands has thickened and twisted her usually wash-and-wear hair into some type of voluminous bird's nest. And she was wearing a wedding dress—white lace hugging her collarbone and shoulders, and plunging part of the way down her front, perfectly framing her Star of David necklace, the same one Kurt had given her on her birthday, so many years ago.

From what seemed like a great distance, she heard her mother say, "I swear, her father and I just drove her home from the hospital yesterday."

"I was thinking the same thing about taking her out for ice cream," Ororo concurred. "She was just a child."

Stevie leaned in to give her cheeks another dusting of something pinkish and sparkly. Kitty didn't need it, since she was already blushing. Having a US congresswoman doing her makeup was overkill, and she said so.

"Are you going to complain the whole time?" Stevie inquired.

"Pretty much," Kitty replied. Falling back on grumpiness was far easier than acknowledging what she was really feeling, namely, heartsick and hollow, with a healthy dose of dread.

More reminiscences were exchanged, along with more hugs, and ruminations on her beauty. Kitty tried to take their word for it. She wasn't sure how she could look beautiful when there was so much swirling beneath the shell of makeup, lace, and hairspray. It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. In mere minutes, she was going to be Mrs. Peter Rasputin, completing the dream her thirteen-year-old self had transcribed over and over again in her diary. But most of her wasn't thinking about that. The better part of her heart and mind was focused on the improbable coldness in Kurt's glowing eyes when he'd told her he didn't want to be with her.

Being rejected by Kurt was bad enough. The possibility of losing his friendship was infinitely worse. She couldn't imagine the next day, and the next day, and the day after that, with Peter, but without Kurt. Who would she confide in about Peter's inevitable foolishness? Whose quarters would she escape to when Peter was in one of his morose moods, and she couldn't stand it anymore? She had other friends, including the other women in the room. But Kurt has long since become her first call, her preferred escape. Kitty also wondered why she was marrying a man she was already devising ways to escape from. Doubts, she'd been told, were inevitable. But that didn't sound right.

She'd never had those thoughts about Kurt. There'd been a time when she'd run from him; it was the same time she'd been writing Peter's name in her diary. Since then, she preferred to run with him. Kurt had been the first person she'd asked to help form a new team. In fact, the idea of working with him again had been part of the reason she'd _wanted_ to form a new team. She had consciously chosen to take Peter to DC instead of Kurt, but not for the reasons Kurt thought. It wasn't because she'd been ashamed of him, or worried about negative press. The truth was, she hadn't invited him because of how badly she'd wanted to. At the time, she hadn't known what that meant. In retrospect, she knew she'd been scared of finding herself in exactly the situation she was currently in—deciding to stop being scared, only to realize Kurt didn't feel the same way. And yet, things had felt very different in front of the fountain the night before, when Kurt had been sighing into her mouth and hugging her thigh with his tail, his one-of-a-kind hands climbing her back to her bare skin. How could something that felt so right have gone so very wrong, so very quickly? It didn't make sense. And Kitty Pryde hated things that didn't make sense.

Ororo appeared behind her in the mirror, a gossamer veil in her hands. She was wearing a form-fitting, antique white dress that was overlaid with delicate lace and crowned with a tall accordion ruff that started at her bodice and circled the back of her neck, an oyster shell for the pearl that was her luminous face. _A sculpture made flesh_ , thought Kitty.

"Are you ready?" the storm goddess asked.

"Yes," Kitty lied. There was nothing else to say; Ororo had already given her a chance to think twice, and she'd blown it, just like she'd blown her relationship with Kurt.

Ororo settled the veil into her hair, inserted yet more pins, and then lovingly dusted the final product with fragrant rose petals. When she finished, she laid both hands on Kitty's bare shoulders. As always, her fingers were delicate, yet bristling with hidden power.

"He had better be good to you, Kitten. If not, he will answer to me."

Kitty almost managed a smile. It wasn't the first time she'd struggled to fathom how she could possibly be worthy of a goddess's love.

"Thank you," she managed.

Ororo's own smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Kitty thought she was about to say something else, when Stevie's voice interrupted.

"Kitty? It's time."

There was a limo ride, yet more hugs, and then she was there, taking her mother's arm inside a tent behind a seemingly endless expanse of chairs draped in white fabric and filled with all her friends, on the former grounds of the place she'd first fallen in love with Peter, and accepted Kurt as a friend. They were waiting for the wedding processional. Once it started, she and her mother would start walking down the white-carpeted aisle lined with the same pink rose petals bedecking her hair. Additional roses were draped in decadent bunches over the roof of the canopy at the end of the aisle, where the rabbi, Illyana, Peter, and Kurt would be waiting to welcome her into married life.

"Are you okay, Katherine?"

Kitty looked at her mother, remembering her happy childhood, and the chaos that had descended too soon after it. They'd never been as close after that. When she'd joined the X-Men, her life had changed so completely, her day-to-day existence becoming so incredible, fantastic, and occasionally terrifying, that she'd had to edit most of it out in her calls to her parents, for fear they'd storm the Institute, tell Xavier exactly what they thought of him, and drag her home for good. Over time, her calls had become less frequent, and shorter, until eventually, entire weeks would go by when she'd forgotten to call at all. The Chicago suburbs seemed to be such a long way away from her new world, filled with spaceships, alternate dimensions, and even gods. What advice could Teresa Pryde possibly offer on the thrills and traumas of a world she knew nothing about? And yet, here she was, motherly intuition sensing the discontent simmering beneath her mutant daughter's bridal regalia.

For a long moment, Kitty seriously weighed telling her mother about the "nice German boy" who'd earned her friendship and her heart before breaking both into a thousand perhaps unrecoverable pieces. But just as she opened her mouth, the music started, and the moment passed. It was too late to stop, or go back; she had to move forward, into the future she'd chosen.

She let her mother guide her out of the tent, into the late-afternoon sun. When she stepped into the aisle, heads turned, and gasps were uttered. Kitty looked straight ahead, toward the altar, and toward Peter, whose wide-eyed admiration made her feel like an angel or a ghost—something ethereal, beyond flesh and blood. She told herself she wouldn't look at Kurt. Promised herself. Swore on everything she held dear she wouldn't even favor him with a passing glace. Then, she looked at him. Unsurprisingly, he looked good. Kurt always looked good in suits; Kitty had known that long before her tongue had learned the precise shape of his fangs. Yet the face she'd grown to love was a heart-rending mystery. He was certainly looking at her; in fact, he couldn't stop looking at her, like she was a magnet and his eyes were iron instead of gold. But she couldn't guess what it meant, couldn't tell whether he was looking at her, or through her.

Her mother passed her off to Peter, who curled his very large hand around her much smaller fingers, and tenderly squeezed them. Kitty's smile was a reflex, an automatic gesture to cover all the things she didn't want to acknowledge, to Peter, or herself, and certainly not Kurt, who was barely visible behind the broad shoulders of her husband-to-be, yet whose golden gaze still managed to burn both her cheeks and the star around her neck.

The rabbi was talking, saying words about the sacredness of love, the beauty of pure spirts, and the importance of commitment in the face of strife. As the words washed over her, Kitty remembered the day she'd proposed, when she'd thought she'd lost Peter, and knew she couldn't stand to bury another friend, especially now that she was the boss, and the death would be on her hands. She also thought about the first time she'd told her diary she loved Peter, at a time she'd been too young to really know what that meant. Then she thought about the time she'd actually lost him, and how Kurt had slept on her couch to make sure she wasn't alone. Peter had often left her alone—by dying, but also by cheating on her, and defecting to the enemy. Finally, she thought about the wedding reception, and the utterly intolerable idea of dancing with Kurt while wearing Peter's ring on her finger.

At some point, the rabbi ceased reciting general platitudes, and addressed Kitty directly. Because she knew she had to, Kitty repeated the rabbi's words. Then she did something harder, accepting a ring from Kurt, and placing it on Peter's finger. Peter's rich voice repeated more words about love and commitment, as Kurt handed over the second ring. Kitty watched the gold band preparing to dock on her finger, telling herself it was inevitable, that she had to lie in the bed she'd made. Yet at the last second, as it had done so many times before, her mutant body saved her. Kitty watched along with Peter, Kurt, and the all the other shocked wedding guests as the ring passed through her intangible fingers.

For what was certainly less than a second but felt infinitely longer, Kitty stared at the band of gold suspended inside her hand. Then she covered her face to hide a rush of tears, and phased through the lawn.

…

Kurt stared at the spot Kitty had been. The fact he never got lost did nothing to help him navigate a maze of emotions that ran the gamut from shock, to relief, to fear, to love, and, finally, worry. He was desperately worried about Kitty's tears and the things she must be feeling to make her do something so drastic. He wanted to find her—to comfort her, touch her, and talk to her. It was an instinctual urge, as natural as teleporting or the unconscious motion of his tail when he wasn't specifically using it. He might actually have teleported, blindly, to find her, if Peter hadn't spoken his name.

"Kurt—could I not be here please?"

He heard himself agree, and then he did teleport, but not to Kitty's side.

In two BAMF's, he took Peter and himself back to the Russian's room at the Clarebyrne Hotel. As he stepped out of the quickly dissipating cloud of brimstone, Peter was shaking his head like a man trying desperately to wake from a dream, Kitty's ring cradled with improbable tenderness inside his large hand.

"Why would she do something like this? Why, after everything we have been through…"

The question seemed rhetorical, so Kurt didn't answer. He didn't trust his voice, anyway, worried his own considerable turmoil would be nakedly obvious.

Peter spun to face him. "You must talk to her, Kurt. She will listen to you."

If only Peter knew how untrue that was…

Kurt took a breath, and managed, "Just… give her some space. I'm certain she'll talk you, but… She may need time."

"You think there is still hope?" Peter asked. "Perhaps, if Katya and I _took_ that time, together…"

Being more careful with his words than he'd ever needed to be with his feet while walking a tightrope, Kurt said, "I think… Kitty made a choice."

He was certain that was true. He only wished he knew what that choice was.

…

Hours later, long after the afternoon had given way to evening, and evening had transitioned into night, Kitty lay sprawled across the most spacious couch in the honeymoon suite at the Clarebyrne Hotel, watching TV. It felt like years since she'd watched anything that wasn't the news or C-SPAN. But little had changed. There were enough reboots and copies of older shows to make her wonder if it was, in fact, the past. It was a surreal sensation, but then, it had been a surreal day. Her defection at the altar had quickly been overshadowed by the impromptu wedding of Remy and Rogue. Kitty had watched that substitute wedding behind the last row of chairs, standing next to the man she'd defected from, while studying, from a distance, a very different man, who was once again positioned beside the altar, this time in support of his sister.

Kurt had continued looking good, his indigo fur gleaming in the sun, his suit tight and crisp on his compact frame. But he'd no longer been looking at her. He'd been facing Rogue and Remy, yet had seemed to be looking at nothing. During Rogue and Remy's ceremony, Kitty had been working through a sickening flood of emotions, from guilt, to sadness, to relief, to fear, and, finally, worry. Despite everything, she'd been worried about Kurt, and his inability to smile or even seem present while the sister she knew he loved looked so radiantly happy. She knew Kurt didn't deserve her worry, and that she didn't deserve to be worried about his heart, not after what he'd done to hers. But that hadn't stopped her from wanting to comfort him, touch him, talk to him. It was an instinctual urge, as natural as phasing or walking on air.

She hadn't stayed for the reception. That would have been a bridge too far. But she had talked to Peter, doing her best to apologize, without telling him about Kurt, or the real reason she'd let his ring pass through her hand—because in the instant before the gold band touched her, she'd realized she didn't want to get married, not to Peter, not to anyone. Peter worshiped her, or at least thought he did. But Kitty didn't want to be worshiped. What she really wanted was a partner, someone who could fight by her side and cover her escapes, who knew she wasn't perfect, but didn't care, because together, they could make each other better. She also wanted to be herself. It seemed like too long since she'd felt like herself.

As soon as she'd arrived in the suite she was meant to have shared with Peter, she'd carefully removed her wedding dress, and laid it on a chaise lounge near the picture window. Then she'd removed the pins from her hair, washed off as much makeup as possible, and changed into her pyjamas—her comfy ones, made of drapey gray modal, rather than the sexy silk ones she didn't know why she'd bought expect that it seemed like the type of thing a new wife should have.

The first knock on the door wasn't enough to pry her away from the hypnotic grip of a reality show about buying and renovating houses. She'd lost track of whether it was a single show or many similar ones, or even if it was her first episode, or her fifth. Kitty wondered if that's what "normal" people did—shop, endlessly, for new places to live and new stuff to put in them, and then watch TV shows about the same.

The second round of knocking made her sit up. It was probably room service, trying to bring her some complementary champagne, or a basket of rose petals, or some other romantic accoutrement. By the third set of knocks, she was starting to suspect it wasn't room service. By the fourth knocks, she was on her feet, certain it was Peter. He probably had more questions. That was understandable, given how inadequate she knew her answers had been. Or maybe he'd moved on from his sadness, and become angry; that would also be understandable. Either way, she was resigned to facing him. She owed him that much, and infinitely more.

Kitty made a small, futile attempt to smooth the wrinkles out of her modal pants and tank top, and then opened the door. It wasn't Peter.

"Hi."

"Hi," Kurt replied, gaze flickering behind a lock of shiny blue-black hair that had tumbled over his forehead to obscure part of one golden eye. He was still wearing his wedding suit, but his tie was loose and barely clinging to the edges of his shirt, which was unbuttoned low enough to expose a generous portion of his sleek indigo chest.

At being confronted by the man who'd so recently broken her heart, Kitty knew she should have shut the door in his face. Part of her certainly wanted to. But that part was at war with another one that was at least twice as happy to see him as she'd been at Belles of Hell six days ago, when she hadn't thought anything could make her smile, until Kurt had BAMF'ed in, and made everything better. A third part of her was trying very hard not to stare at the groove of Kurt's chest, which she badly wanted to touch and preferably kiss, and hear Kurt make some version of the sound he'd exhaled into her mouth the night before.

It was still such a new thought, Kitty took a moment to ponder it. She'd noticed Kurt's charms before, up close, and through the eyes of others—Kurt's lovers, and their mutual friends, and random women on the street, whose eyes would sometimes follow Kurt with fascination and even naked longing. But until their dance, she hadn't seriously thought those charms had anything to do with her. His large, bottomless eyes, the improbable perfection of his carelessly tousled hair, the wonderful symmetry of his lean muscles, and, of course, the very touchable softness of his sleek fur, dark under his eyes and cheekbones and shining everywhere else—those things had been facts, but they hadn't been truths. Now they were real, and warm, and standing right in front of her, so close, yet somehow impossibly far.

"Did you, um…" Kitty cleared her throat, and tried again. "Did you want to come in?"

Kurt shifted his weight, eyes wandering down the hallway. "There was something I wanted to tell you."

"Oh. Okay."

"A few things, actually."

In the awkward silence that followed, Kitty moved her own weight from her left foot to her right, and stared blindly down the opposite end of the empty hallway. At last, she said, "You can either tell me here, or you can come in."

"I guess... I'll come in."

Kitty stepped aside to let him enter, and he did, but cautiously, his bare feet all but tiptoeing over the threshold, as though he were worried about waking a sleeping giant. Kitty did her best to ignore his discomfort, a relatively easy task given how distracted she was by her own. It was all she could do to keep walking and not plant her heel to spin back into Kurt's body. In the wake of what she'd done, bad choices seemed impossible. There was no right or wrong anymore; there was only what she wanted, and at that moment, all she wanted was to forget about being mad at Kurt, and be with him—all night, and all morning, until the hotel staff finally arrived to drag them back to whatever was left of their lives after all their considerable mistakes.

Remembering Peter's face when his ring had passed through her hand helped stabilize her. So did her memory of the very different look in Kurt's bottomless eyes the night before, when they'd been cold above a blank frown, accompanied by a tone he'd never used with her before, and she hoped never to hear again.

Kitty proceeded to the dove gray couch and sat down in the furthest corner. Kurt followed her, but hesitated at the foot of the opposite corner. Kitty frowned, bristling at his seeming insistence on reminding her of how distant they'd become, so soon after her discovery of how much closer she'd like him to be.

"You're worried about sitting next to me now?" she challenged. "Haven't you heard? I'm newly single."

She'd wanted to rattle him, but was surprised by how well she succeeded. Kurt appeared truly hurt, his eyes no longer capable of even the pretense of meeting hers.

Kitty sighed. "Just… sit down. Please."

He did, but only in the most technical sense, placing himself on the edge of the cushions with his forearms resting on his thighs, like he was already preparing to leave.

"How was the reception?" she asked.

"A bit of a blur, to be honest," he replied.

"They seem really happy."

There was little happiness in his own voice when he said, "Ja—they do."

"Is it still going on?"

"I imagine it will be going on for some time. I wasn't making a positive contribution, so…" he trailed off helplessly, staring at his hands.

"I'm sure Rogue was glad you were there," she offered. She wasn't angry at Rogue and Remy; they were innocents, caught up in someone else's mess.

Casually, Kurt said, "Mystique was there."

Kitty blinked. "Really?"

"Not for long, but..."

"Did you talk to her?"

Kurt shook his head. "She's Anna Marie's mother—not mine."

At another time, she might have coaxed him to discuss it further. Kurt so rarely talked about his biological mother; the fact he'd brought it up seemed significant. But she couldn't summon the energy; there were too many other things she was far more anxious to discuss.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" she asked.

Still looking at his hands, Kurt said, "I guess I'll start with the first thing."

"Sounds logical," she deadpanned.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Kitty's heart stopped, and then lurched. She hadn't expected that particular turn of phrase, or the plain way he said it, like it was a simple fact instead of a world-tilting revelation. But after a moment, it made sense. A moment after that, it was obvious. Her mind flipped through a thousand images, of the worry etched into Kurt's face before she did something crazy, his full-body relief when she came back safely, and especially the particular smile he saved just for her, bright but a bit lopsided, like he knew she'd see through a more perfect one, which of course she would.

"I know." She stated it just as plainly, realizing she'd always known.

Kurt's head popped up, his eyes finally meeting hers. "You do?"

With certainty, Kitty said, "You've never gotten carried away with me."

Kurt's lips twitched, as though he wanted to smile, but knew he shouldn't. Her next words made him abandon the effort. "That, and only being in love with me could make you do something as stupid as what you did last night."

"That's… fair," he acknowledged, dropping his gaze.

Kitty watched him fold and twist his hands, thinking about the ways those hands had touched her over the years—first cautiously, then protectively, and then with a needfulness one or both of them should have noticed, but hadn't, because it had been so thoughtlessly easy.

Just as easily, Kitty said, "Problem is—I think I'm in love with you, too."

Kurt looked up again, but slowly, searching her face. "I… didn't know that."

"Because I'm just a silly kid?" The quip was harsher than she intended, poisoned by hurt.

"No," Kurt replied, regarding her seriously. "Because I didn't think I could possibly be that lucky."

Kitty swallowed, cursing him for punching another large hole in her resolve to be angry.

"But you mentioned a problem," Kurt reminded her.

Kitty forced her gaze toward the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with white and gray brocade. "That would be the fact I'm still hurt and angry, and having a really hard time focusing on those things when you're sitting three feet away from me using what looks like half the buttons on your shirt."

Kurt glanced down at himself. He clearly hadn't noticed. "I could—"

"Please don't."

Kurt readjusted himself, getting more comfortable, yet also newly uncertain about what to do with his hands or tail. It was Kitty's turn to deny a smile; she couldn't help being proud of making Kurt Wagner, the man she'd watched try to seduce virtually every woman he'd ever met who wasn't her, so obviously flustered.

"What's the second thing?" she asked.

"Rachel broke up with me," he replied.

"I guess that's not surprising."

"I still wanted to tell you."

"Is she okay?"

"She seemed… unusually calm."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No," he agreed.

"Are _you_ okay?"

"I deserved it."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

"No," he agreed. "It doesn't." The words hung, for a moment, between them, before Kurt asked, "How is Piotr?"

"You must have talked to him," she observed.

"He asked me to intercede on his behalf. I… dissuaded him."

"Wow… that is…" Kitty leaned back, and swept a hand through her hair. Or at least, she tried to; there was still too much hairspray for her fingers to pass smoothly through.

"Ja…"

"I did manage to talk to him," she said, "after Rogue and Remy's ceremony. He was… upset." That didn't quite cover it, but came close enough.

"I observed that as well."

His words made her recall something she hadn't seen at either wedding, which was Rachel's red hair anywhere in the audience. She wondered if they were still friends. Or even teammates.

"Is Rachel going to leave?" she asked.

Kurt hesitated, tail twitching. Then he said, "I thought I would."

Kitty's heart performed another sickening lurch. "What?"

"That was one of the other things I was going to tell you," Kurt replied. "That I was going to leave."

"Leave… what?"

"Everything."

"Where would you go?" She wanted to know how thoroughly he'd considered the practical details, which might give her some sense of how serious he was.

"I'm not sure. Back to Germany, maybe. Or London…"

"This is your _home_ ," she insisted.

"Without your friendship—it wouldn't be."

Kitty stared at him, fighting warring desires to tumble into his arms or slap him with a very tangible hand for giving new life to all her fears of losing him.

Flatly, she asked, "Are you still leaving?"

"I'm not sure," Kurt repeated. His tail twitched again, slapping gently against the cushions. Kitty found herself glaring at his extra appendage, that part of his body which should have been revealing, but so often wasn't, mostly because it was a lot like Kurt—always in motion, or ready to be, for no other reason than the fact it was designed to move.

After a moment, Kurt said, "I know that under the circumstances, I have no right to ask anything of you, yet I can't stop wondering—why did you do it?"

"Why did I leave Peter at the altar?"

"I'm more curious about why there was an altar to begin with."

Kitty had been asking herself the same thing all day. Or maybe longer. Probably longer. "Is it crazy that I'm still not sure?"

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know… I can't precisely say why I went back to Amanda during our Excalibur days. Other than she seemed… familiar, I suppose, at a time when I felt I needed that."

Kitty's eyes drifted toward the very large, very inviting bed she wouldn't be christening with a husband. "Sometimes, I miss the girl I was when I first loved Peter. She was so sure of herself. She thought she knew exactly how the world worked, and exactly how to fix it."

Gently, Kurt said, "No one has all the answers, Katzchen. Especially to problems that large."

"I know," she agreed, meeting his gaze. "But people expect me to. There are so many people counting on me now, and I'm not always sure if I'm doing the right thing. A lot of the time, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing."

Kurt's expression grew distant, remembering. "When I first joined the X-Men, I didn't always get along with Scott. But there was one thing I always admired about him. In the middle of a battle, no matter how overwhelmed we were, no matter how hopeless it seemed, he was always three steps ahead. I've never been like that. When punches, lasers, and swords are flying, I rarely know what I'm doing from one moment to the next. I simply dive in, and hope for the best."

Kitty blanched a little, recalling all the times she'd followed his lead, assuming he had a plan. "That can't possibly be true."

"I'm exaggerating a little, but… not very much."

"How have you only died once? How did we not _all_ die?"

Part of Kurt's smile finally broke through. "Luck, probably. But also—I trust my instincts."

That returned some of the color to her cheeks; recent history excluded, Kurt's instincts were usually sound. "You're a good leader," she said, and meant it. She'd never liked taking orders, but most of the time, Kurt's orders had managed not to feel like orders.

"Danke, but it doesn't suit me. I've never been comfortable telling people what to do, or putting my friends in harm's way."

"You think I am?"

"I think you have good instincts," he said, then added, "You're also much, much smarter than I am."

"There's different kinds of—"

"Accept the compliment," he urged. "Just this once. It's barely a compliment, anyway, as it's merely the truth."

Kurt had a well-earned reputation for flattery, though it wasn't a talent he'd ever exploited with her. Kitty released a silent sigh. "I should have talked to you about it before now. Because I really could have used that truth a few months ago."

"Why didn't you?"

"You seemed busy with Rachel, and I didn't know what to make of that. But also…" She shook her head as she trailed off. "It seems stupid now, but I thought if I talked to you, you'd think I wasn't cut out for it. That I was in over my head."

"Have I ever given you cause to think I didn't trust you?"

Kitty mumbled, "Last night comes to mind…"

She saw Kurt flex his jaw as he shifted again in his seat. "There's nothing I can say to make it right. But I want you to know—I truly thought I was doing the right thing."

"By telling me what I needed?" she questioned. "By not letting me choose?"

"I'm not trying to excuse it," Kurt insisted, a spark of frustration evident in his own voice. "But you need to understand my view of the situation."

"Which is?"

"My life is what it is," Kurt replied. "I'm not complaining—I've had plenty of time to get used to it, and usually, the benefits outweigh the rest. But there are certain things… My life will never be normal."

"And mine will?" Kitty asked.

"It could be, if you wanted," Kurt observed. "You could walk away from this, blend in, get a job with substantially less risk of death, buy a house, raise a family…"

"You think that's what I want?"

"I don't know. But I can't imagine you wanting… this… forever."

The way he said "this" made her heart hitch. Did he mean the X-Men, or himself? "I just want _you_ , Kurt. The rest we can figure out. Together."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It could be, if you let it."

They let the words echo, each of them noting the details of the room—the thick shag carpet stretched in front of the fireplace, the door to the luxurious bathroom with its gleaming gold fixtures and a deep whirlpool tub, and the very large bed, mattress wrapped in crisp white linens, tufted satin headboard piled high with decorative pillows.

Kitty broke the silence to say, "But there's something I need you to understand, too. I didn't leave Peter at the altar because of _you_. I did it for _me_."

"Okay…" Kurt offered, clearly not understanding.

Kitty took a breath, released it, and tried again. "Last night, I thought I'd already lost you. It didn't matter if you were telling the truth. If your mind was made up, I figured there was nothing else I could do. I wasn't about to beg you to change your mind. I had this image of you pitying me—the silly little girl who'd developed a silly crush on the guy who flirts with every woman who's not her."

"I'm—"

"Let me finish," she interrupted, fed up with apologies. "What I'm trying to say is—I didn't leave Peter to be with you. I left him because I didn't want to marry him. You might have helped me see that, but still—I did it for _me_."

When she turned, Kurt's golden eyes were there to catch her. "Saying those words to you was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Harder than falling from heaven?"

Kurt didn't hesitate. "Yes."

The gravity of his words almost made her wish he was lying. But he wasn't. Until the night before, Kurt had never lied to her. And he would never lie about something like that. It reminded her of Meggan's story at the bachelorette party, about how he'd been willing to fall from the 100-foot ceiling of his jungle gym, just to make her smile. But heaven was a lot higher than the roof of a gym.

Kurt cleared his throat. "There's… something else I need to tell you."

"Okay."

"But—it would be easier to show you."

"What do you—"

"You'll have to come closer."

Kurt extended his right hand. After a moment's hesitation, Kitty placed her hand in his, and shuffled across the couch. When she was close enough to touch him, she stopped, and let Kurt lift her hand to his chest. He laid it over his heart, on the bare fur exposed by his open shirt. Her fingers listened to his strong, steady heartbeat as his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand.

"What am I—"

"Look for what's not there," said Kurt.

Kitty moved her fingers against his fur, feeling the smooth skin underneath. And then it hit her. "There's no scar."

Kurt had died with Bastion's arm through his chest; that should have left a substantial mark. He should have had other scars, too, from being shot multiple times, and from having his flesh shredded by Riptide. Kitty had seen the Riptide wounds with her own eyes; she'd always be haunted by her memory of Kurt's unconscious body, his fur shaved in patches to make way for a maze of bandages and ugly stitches.

"I don't have any scars anymore," Kurt confirmed. "None of my broken bones… At least, none from before."

"I guess… it's a new body, so…" Saying it out loud made it sound even stranger. Had he really been rebuilt like that? Reconstructed from the ground up, his old self, but new?

So low and quiet it was almost a whisper, Kurt said, "There's something else."

"Tell me."

"You can't feel it?"

"I don't—"

Kurt withdrew his own hand, and said, "Concentrate."

Kitty frowned, but humored him, closing her eyes to focus on her other senses, the way Logan had taught her. All she could feel was the subtle spring of his muscle, the softness of his fur, and the same steady heartbeat. And of course, his warmth; Kurt's body was always especially warm, perhaps because of his fur, or maybe his nature—his readiness to spring into action at less than a moment's notice. What did he think she was going to…

And then, she felt it. It started as a tickle in her mind, almost like the feathery touch of telepathy, but different, less physical, but also more so, because she could feel it in her hand, as well, her fingers oddly tingling. Kurt's heart was still beating, but dully, and his skin felt…

Kitty gasped at the rush of cold, and wrenched her hand away, rubbing her fingers. "What—what is that…?"

Kurt was strangely calm as he replied, "It's not what it is—it's what it's not."

Kitty merely stared at him, unable to fathom what he could possibly mean.

Kurt asked, "What does a dead man have to bargain with?"

"No," she said, shaking her head adamantly. "It's not real. It's just magic, or—"

"We both know magic is very real."

She couldn't argue with that. "Then—what does it mean?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. All I know for certain is—I can't go back."

"To… heaven?"

"To anywhere, I think."

"That's what you meant? When you said you couldn't die?"

"Ja."

Kitty ground her teeth, angry at this latest thing that didn't make sense. Souls shouldn't be real. The idea defied all reason. And yet, heaven shouldn't have been real, either. Neither should giant space bullets, or men with blue fur and fork-tipped tails. And she knew what she'd felt; the cold still lingered, pulsing in her fingertips.

"Who else knows?" she asked.

"No one else knows."

That meant he hadn't told Logan. "Rachel couldn't feel it?"

"She could have—if she tried."

"Or if you told her."

Kurt didn't reply, but he didn't really have to. They'd have to talk about Rachel eventually—about his reasons for dating her, his feelings about leaving her, and what, if anything they could possibly do to keep her as their friend. But it was a topic for later, after Kitty knew whether Kurt was leaving, too, and more about the conditions of his aliveness.

"Does it… hurt?"

"Not physically. I feel better than I have in years, except…"

"If I can feel it, you must be able to."

"Sometimes," he admitted. "I can't describe it, but it feels like there's something…"

"Missing," she supplied.

"Ja," he agreed.

With conviction, she said, "You're still you."

Kurt's gaze wandered toward the window. "I wonder, sometimes…"

"I'd know if you weren't you."

Kurt looked at her. "You sound so sure."

"Someone once told me I have good instincts."

Kurt's lips twitched, a smile inching its way up the left side of his mouth. By Kurt standards, it wasn't much of a smile. But in that moment, Kitty was sure it was one of the most wonderful things she'd ever seen.

"Sounds like a smart person," he said.

Kitty returned his hint of a smile, her first real flicker of happiness since the aftermath of their kiss. "When he's not being stupid on purpose, he has his moments."

Kurt's lips twitched again, then settled into something more mysterious. "Do you remember, at the beginning of our cross-time adventure, when another world's Saturnyne transformed you into a perfect princess, so that you might marry her son?"

"I remember," she confirmed.

"I knew you weren't you. I didn't know what to do about it, but I knew. And it was awful. I worried we'd lost you. And I remember feeling…"

"What?"

"That even if you were you, and had wanted to stay—I wasn't sure I could leave without you."

Kitty let her eyes wander over his familiar features, remembering the man he'd been, back when she'd been a girl who hated being called one. He had been younger, she realized. Younger, afraid, and in over his head, while trying so hard not to be, for her sake.

"Thankfully," she said, forcing another smile, "you're good at saving damsels in distress."

Kurt shook his head. "I didn't need to save you. As usual, you saved yourself."

That wasn't quite true, but Kitty didn't have the heart to contradict him. For once, she accepted the compliment, confident that Kurt, at least, believed it.

Several heartbeats later, she asked, "What do you want to do?"

"What do _you_ want to do?"

"Sticking with our honesty kick, I kind of want to go to bed." In response to Kurt's cocked eyebrow, she added, "I mean, like—to sleep. It's late, and it's been… a _really_ long day."

Kurt nodded, and made a move to get to his feet. "I understand. I'll—"

"Stay." She didn't touch him, but the need in her voice was enough to at least make him pause.

"I—"

"Stay," she said again.

Kurt's golden gaze flickered. In a low voice, he asked, "That's what you want?"

Kitty replied, "I want to fall asleep in your arms."

There it was again, that tiny but so very welcome hint of a smile. "I think that can be arranged."

She pushed herself to her feet as she said, "Just let me brush my teeth, and finish washing the rest of this junk off my face. Do you need to grab anything?"

When she turned to him, he was still seated, eyes furtive as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't actually have a room here…"

"You were going to stay with Rachel," she realized.

"I have some things in Piotr's room, but…"

"Yeah, that… wouldn't be good. I guess… Just wear whatever you're comfortable with. I mean—if that's okay with you?"

Kurt nodded. "It's fine—you go ahead."

In the bathroom, she swiped yet more makeup remover across her eyes, and scrubbed her cheeks with the hotel soap, until the reflection in the mirror above the sink finally reminded her of herself.

When she returned, Kurt was waiting for her, sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket discarded, shirt untucked. Kitty was a bit surprised he hadn't taken her invitation to get more comfortable as an excuse to strip down to his briefs, but his instincts were probably telling him the same thing hers were—after the day they'd had, it would be too much, too soon.

Kitty turned on the bedside light, turned off the main one, then sat down on the other side of the wide mattress, tentative despite herself. In the dim light, Kurt's eyes were brighter, his fur darker. He eyed her across the bed, waiting for her to take the lead. So she did, shuffling toward the headboard, peeling back the covers, and slipping inside. Kurt crawled in after her, but when he got close, he hesitated, unsure about exactly how close he should get. Kitty laid a hand on his bicep, coaxing him. He slid further into the bed, and when his head dropped to the pillow, Kitty closed the distance, curling her arm around his ribs and dropping her cheek against his shoulder. She didn't pull up the covers. It felt strange with him in his clothes, and she didn't need them, anyway; as usual, and quite unlike when her fingers had started to tingle on his chest, Kurt's warmth was enough.

They lay there for a while, comforted, but not quite comfortable. Kurt's fingers were making patterns in her lower back, touching her bare skin where her shirt had hitched up her body. Kitty badly wanted to slip her own hand inside his shirt, but couldn't quite summon the courage. She settled for tracing his ribs through the fabric, fingers climbing up, and down.

She felt the vibration of Kurt's voice under her ear when he said, "There's one more thing I wanted to tell you."

"Okay."

"It's about when you… died."

The fingers tracing his ribs skipped a beat, then resumed. "Sure."

"I spent hours in the Danger Room, battling our most formidable foes—Wendigo, Dr. Doom, Apocalypse. I knew I'd lose, but that was the point. I wanted them to hurt me, because anything would be better than the pain I felt thinking about you, alone in the vacuum of space, so far beyond my power to reach you."

Her arm and the cheek on his shoulder registered the swallow he forced through his throat, her own throat tightening in sympathy.

After a moment, he continued. "I got knocked down dozens of times, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help, and I began to wonder if anything could. Then, lying on the metal floor, recovering from my latest failure, I asked the Danger Room to show me you. I cried hugging and apologizing to a hologram of you. It didn't solve anything, but it helped. It felt good to admit I didn't know what to do. I couldn't face not talking to you, not seeing you, not…"

"…touching me?"

"I didn't know what it meant at the time, but… yes."

Lips brushing his shoulder, Kitty said the first thing that came to mind. "So touch me."

For half a dozen heartbeats, Kurt remained still. Then, he shifted the arm behind her neck, and nudged her gently with the rest of him. Kitty turned away from his body to let him fit himself into her shape, her spine pulled tight against his chest, held in place by the hand that nestled into the space below her ribs, and especially by his tail, spade tip tickling her thigh before its whole sinuous length coiled down her leg. When his cheek nuzzled her neck, she recalled a phrase she'd heard before, _warm velvet, with Kurt's heartbeat underneath_ …

Kitty reached out to turn off the light, then settled into the rhythm of Kurt's chest slowly filling and emptying against her back, imagining her heart doing the same, matching its pulse to his.

Sometime later, with her eyes closed, and her limbs heavy, she said, "I'm glad you came back."

Kurt's spoke his sleepy reply into her hair. "Me too."

Kitty broke their rhythm to take a slower breath, acknowledging, for the second time, the gravity of his words. He'd given up heaven and his own divine soul to come back to them. To come back to her. And he didn't even regret it.

"It's not cold anymore."

"No," Kurt agreed. "It's not."

Kitty snuggled deeper into his warmth, and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitty/Kurt hugs are my favorite—I hope you agree :) I could end things here, but I've got one more chapter and an epilogue in me, I think. They deserve more resolution, and they've got this whole hotel suite to play in, for at least a few more hours ;)
> 
> Is this how souls work? Who knows. The comics didn't, either, so I felt I might as well make up my own rules. Mystique could sense Kurt was "missing something" when she first saw him after his resurrection (Amazing X-Men #6), so I figured—other people must be able to feel it, especially if they knew to look.
> 
> Canon stuff: The non-wedding happens in X-Men Gold #30. I've altered the sequence of events slightly. I think Remy and Rogue get married the following day; most people are wearing different clothes, and there seems to have been a change from evening to daytime. But that kind of makes no sense…? So, I changed it! The thing with Kitty and the prince happens in Excalibur #13. Regarding the necklace: Kitty is wearing the Star of David necklace in Gold #30, and I think this would, canonically, be the one Kurt gave her? I recall her losing the original one and Kurt replacing it for her just before they rejoined the X-Men following Excalibur. She could have replaced it again, of course, but having her so prominently wearing a necklace given to her by Kurt while not-marrying Peter works pretty dang well with this story, so let's go with that ;) Kurt fights Apocalypse et al and cries hugging a hologram of Kitty in X-Men: Manifest Destiny #4 (one of the most heartbreaking Kitty + Kurt scenes ever—if you haven't read it, do so!).
> 
> Next: "The Day After the Wedding," in which Kitty and Kurt wake up together, and do other things together, before trying to figure out what to do next… Stay tuned!


	6. The Day After the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty and Kurt wake up together, and do other things together…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's (consensual and safe!) sex in this chapter. The story rating has been updated to reflect this.

**Chapter Six: The Day After the Wedding**

Kitty woke up to the dim light of early morning and the patter of rain against the window, the deluge Ororo had banished the day before, come back to haunt her. The sound was cold, but the rest of her was warm, courtesy of the body twined with hers. All her hard curves were poured into a set of similarly hard yet improbably soft curves that could only belong to one person, who she'd slept with before, but never so intimately. In a decade of sharing close quarters and late nights, she'd never woken up with her leg draped over Kurt's thigh and her hand inside his shirt, lips softly pressing his neck.

Kurt was still asleep, his right hand limp and heavy on her hip. When Kitty dragged her cheek across his chest, a groan of contentment rumbled in his throat that made her pulse beat faster against his side. That was another first; in all the previous times Kitty had fallen asleep with her cheek on or near Kurt's warmth, she'd never inspired him to make such a sound.

As she flexed her sleep-stiff muscles, Kurt made another sleepy sound, and slipped his hand to her thigh, fingers denting her flesh through the thin fabric of her pyjamas. Kitty's pulse spiked again, her heart so loud she was sure Kurt would be able to hear it, even in his dreams. Blushing for no one's benefit but her own, Kitty made a move to extricate herself. Kurt responded by seizing her other thigh and drawing her all the way into his body. Kitty gasped and grabbed the headboard for leverage, so that when Kurt's golden eyes finally opened, she was sitting upright, straddling his hips.

Kurt's dreamy smile faded as he matched her face to the pelvis pressed tightly against his own. "Oh. I'm… sorry."

"It's, uh, okay," Kitty managed.

Kurt lifted his hands off her thighs, while Kitty chewed her cheek and wished he hadn't. That thought inspired another blush, which she hid by rolling quickly off Kurt's body, trying to ignore his subtle intake of breath when her hasty knee jostled a sensitive area.

Once they were safely separated, Kurt flexed his own stiff muscles and pushed himself upright, rubbing his face before sweeping a hand through his unruly hair. "Did you, um… have a good sleep?"

Kurt's sleep-gravely voice wreaked additional havoc on her fine motor skills. Did he always sound like that in the morning? All content and tender and husky? She forced down a swallow, and replied, "It was, you know, fine. You?"

"Ja, fine…" His eyes flickered uncertainly before drifting toward the window. "Is it raining?"

"Yeah," Kitty confirmed. "It woke me up."

"Better it than me, I suppose…"

He forced a semblance of a smile as he said it, which Kitty did her best to return, wondering why everything felt so difficult. She loved him, and he loved her. They were also single, and sharing a very luxurious bed. So why did it seem like she was a ghost, or he was, both of them suddenly distant, and untouchable?

For the sake of something to say, Kurt asked, "What time is it?"

Kitty glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Almost 6:30."

Kurt nodded absently. He'd probably already known. He always seemed to know what time it was, just like he always seemed to know where he was, and how to get home. Except at the moment, when he was just as lost as her.

Kurt cleared his throat, and slid toward the opposite side of the bed. "I should…"

"Don't—"

"I'm just going to the washroom," he assured her. "I'll be back."

Kitty winced at her own stupidity. "Sorry, I didn't… sorry."

"For forgetting I'm merely human?" Kurt quipped, as he pushed himself to his feet. "I forgive you."

"How magnanimous of you," she deadpanned. The exchange had the ring of familiarity, but none of the heart; for the second time in two days, Kitty felt as though she were going through the motions with a man she was meant to love.

Kurt paused at the foot of the bed, like he was going to say something else. But he quickly and somewhat awkwardly decided against it, and continued toward the bathroom. Kitty watched him go, tail sashaying with the motion of his dancerly gait. When she flexed her hand, she could still feel the texture of his fur, fine grains flicking through her fingers. It was a sensation she'd taken for granted until each of the times she'd been faced with the prospect of losing it.

Once the door was safely closed, Kitty released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She needed to pull herself together. It was just _Kurt_ , with his stupid jokes and goofy smiles, plus morning breath and the very wrinkled remnants of the same suit he'd worn to her wedding the day before, what felt like a lifetime ago. Kurt, with his sleep-tousled hair, velvet-coated muscles, and low groans at her touch, looking somehow sexier than yesterday, because the wrinkles in his shirt and pants were from the needful press of her hands and body. Kurt had left his imprint on her, as well. She could smell him on her skin and clothes, maleness and Kurt-ness with a hint of brimstone, a smell she'd known before knowing she knew it.

Kitty wondered if she should get up, too. Was that what he was expecting? Had he meant he was coming back to bed, or just back into the room? Did he want to borrow her toothbrush? She should have asked. Would it be weird for her to ask? It wouldn't be any less hygienic than the kiss they'd shared a day ago. But it would probably still be weird. Everything felt weird, and Kitty hated it. Things with Kurt used to be so easy.

The creak of the bathroom door preceding Kurt's return didn't help. Kitty started frantically smoothing her disheveled hair and pyjamas, wanting to seem like she'd done something in his absence besides wondering what she should do. She stopped when he reappeared at the foot of the bed. She had to, because he was looking at her. And because she was looking at him. Suddenly, looking at Kurt was the only the thing in the entire world that mattered.

He'd washed his face and used the water to push his hair off his forehead, blue-black waves curling behind his pointed ears. His cheeks, too, were faintly damp, fur gleaming even in the shadow-dark hollows. Only a few brave shirt buttons were still manning their posts. Kitty wasn't sure if she'd done that, or he had, but in any case, she wasn't complaining. Yesterday, the groove of Kurt's chest had distracted her. Now, it transfixed her. His fur got thicker there, and at least a bit coarser, trailing, she knew, to his very taut belly button, and lower still, to parts she'd never touched, but had felt stirring against her after their dance, and again a few minutes before.

How had she gone so many years without thinking about those things? Without appreciating how stupidly, obviously _male_ he was? It wasn't naivety. She'd lived with Kurt for years; she'd heard him work out mattresses with Amanda, and break furniture with Cerise. Back then, she'd clamped a pillow over her ears, and pretended not to hear. But she had heard. She'd also seen him afterwards, in the kitchen over breakfast, or in the hallway connecting their respective bedrooms to the Braddock Lighthouse's only bathroom, his lips loose and dreamy, eyes dim with contentment, tail limp and languorous. Quite the opposite of how he looked in the present, his tail a stiff scythe curve, his lips flat and tight, his eyes bright and focused, entirely on her.

Kitty wet her lips, and asked, "What do you want to do?"

Kurt broke his gaze to blink, slowly. "What do _you_ want to do?"

Kitty remembered when things had been easy between them, and why. They'd been easy when they'd been honest—when they'd said what they meant, and been themselves, trusting they'd be loved, and accepted, completely, and unconditionally. And so, she made a choice that was also a tactical decision, and said, "I want the same thing I've been wanting all week."

"Which is…?"

"I want to kiss you. And touch you. And pull you back into this bed and make you kiss me back until you can't, because you'll be too busy screaming my name."

Kurt's face worked through a series of expressions, eyes widening, then narrowing, lips twitching, and finally smiling, crookedly, below a jauntily cocked eyebrow. "Screaming?"

"Trust me."

Kurt's smile settled into something calmer. His voice was low and level as he said, "I always have."

Kitty blushed again, but let him see it, heart still thudding, but not from nerves.

The plan was settled, but not the mode of attack. Kitty took a breath, and took the lead. Summoning at least some of the grace of her feline namesake, she proceeded to crawl across the wide mattress, until she reached the foot of the bed. Then she rose to her knees, until her eyes were level with that wonderful groove of Kurt's chest. But she didn't look at that. Instead, she looked up, drawing his golden gaze down to her hazel one.

For a long moment, they remained there, hovering on the precipice of change. If they took the next step, there'd be no going back. Some of Kitty's courage began to falter. What if they had no chemistry? Kitty knew she wasn't Amanda, or Cerise, or any of Kurt's other swimsuit model-esque conquests. And his most recent partner had been a telepathic telekinetic with the cheekbones of a cover model and the body of Olympic pole vaulter. What could she offer that those women couldn't?

As she pondered that question, Kurt placed one hand on her shoulder, and then the other, thumbs stoking her collarbone, fingers massaging her flesh. Kitty closed her eyes, and focused on his touch. The first time Kurt's two-fingered hands had closed over her shoulder, she'd shrieked with fear, and phased out of his grip. Yet it hadn't taken long for the same things that had scared her to become familiar, and comforting. Kurt's touch was different—there was no escaping that. But it was also uniquely his. There could be no doubt about who was touching her, and even less about how he was touching her. Kurt's familiar hands were heavier than normal, and considerably more thorough. When he reached the pucker of her collarbone, he flipped his hands, trading the smoothness of his fingers for the velvet coating the back of them. His touch became light, then, and almost ticklish, reminding her, as if she needed reminding, that all of his taut acrobat's frame was coated with the same sleek velvet.

"You know that I trust you," he said. "But I still need to ask—are you sure?"

If she hadn't been afraid he'd misinterpret it, Kitty might have laughed. Instead, she opened her eyes, placed her own hands on his chest, and stroked up, feeling his nipples and the friction of his fur through what remained of his shirt. When she reached his collar, she closed her fists, and pulled. She hissed her answer against his lips. "Yes Kurt, I am so fucking sure…"

The first pass was marred by the mingling of morning breath and toothpaste, suggesting Kurt had borrowed her toothbrush after all. But the second pass was better. It was slower than their kiss by the fountain, and deeper, long exchanges of wetness and warmth infused with all the same need, and none of the urgency. They didn't have to hurry—unless they wanted to. Before long, Kitty wanted to. She swept her fists into his hair, and fell back into the mattress, dragging him with her.

Because she hadn't given him much choice, he landed awkwardly on the bed and her body. And because they were still lip-locked, neither of them cared. All that mattered was finding new body parts to kiss and to touch, both of them eager to explore all the other places they'd only recently dreamed of tasting. Kurt devotedly kissed her cheeks, and her chin, and her jawline, and her neck, open mouth tracing a fang across her throat. That inspired Kitty's first breathless moan, mind and body reeling with the visceral reality of the mouth on her skin belonging to Kurt, because it couldn't be anyone else. She fought back by thrusting her hands inside the shirt he was somehow still wearing, fingernails parting his fur up either side of his very flexible spine. Kurt lost control of his clever lips long enough to make a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a gasp, but infinitely better than either, because she'd made him do it—she'd taken Kurt Wagner in hand, and rendered him helpless.

When he regained enough of his faculties to be useful, he helped her peel his shirt off his shoulders. Kitty seized that new moment of distraction to knock him back, and flip them, until she was straddling him with her tank top-clad chest sliding over his bare one, hair tumbling into his face as she swept her tongue up the smooth edge of his pointed ear. Kurt's hands were busy on her thighs and glutes, squeezing, and stroking, thumbs dipping into her tailbone. Her own hands were everywhere, wanting to learn every curve, and texture, and groove of muscle. Kurt seemed very amenable to that plan. Kitty had often wondered if he felt things differently because of his fur. Clearly, he did. Kitty had never had a man respond so passionately to her lips and hands, and there might not be another man on Earth who was quite so eager to be petted and stroked, anywhere, but especially certain places, like his neck, and the underside of his pecs, and the thick swirl of fur at his belly button. She heard his tail thrashing somewhere, and wanted to touch that, too—wanted to close her fingers around that most animal part of him, and feel its weight flexing inside her fist.

She lost track of that urge when Kurt began peeling her tank top up her back, and forgot everything that wasn't her own name when her bare breasts finally ground against his fur. Kitty couldn't imagine how anything could feel better than that until Kurt flipped them again, and applied his mouth to her chest, tongue swirling her nipples between earnest sucks and ticklish brushes of velvet. Kitty squirmed and arched under his weight, fingers questing through his hair and down his back to the place where his spine became his tail, and then up, and down again, until they slipped inside the waistband of his pants.

Kurt's lips retreated to her neck as she popped the clasp and tested the shape of him through his underwear. Kitty was reasonably confident about what she'd find, but curious anyway, given how different some of the rest of him was.

In response to her ministrations, Kurt expelled a noisy sigh, and smiled, lips twitching under her jaw. "Disappointed?"

"That depends," Kitty replied. "Is it prehensile?"

Kurt's smile became a breathy chuckle. "Sadly, no."

"I'll have to make do."

"How magnanimous of you."

She wiped the smile off his face by roughly shucking his pants and underwear over his hips, and handling him in earnest, tail in one hand, cock in the other. One was velvet, and the other was smooth, but both were deliciously needful. Kurt moaned softly against her throat as his hips swayed and his tail caressed her hand, curving into her grip and trying to wrap itself up her arm.

Kitty made sure he felt her own proud smile against his ear. "Lightweight."

Kurt reined himself in to quip, thickly, "We'll see…"

He wrenched himself out of her grip, took a moment to fully extricate himself from the pants and underwear still clinging to his legs, then proceeded to kiss his way back down her body, re-anointing her breasts before lapping at her belly button while a sure, firm hand cupped and coaxed her need. Kitty abandoned her smile to concentrate on breathing, fists knotting in the sheets. Kurt was kissing her hips, and the waistband of her pants, and then her pants were gone, and he was kissing her through the lace of her underwear, taking his sweet time before peeling it off, with his hands, and with his teeth. Then, finally, he was kissing her _there_ , teasing at first, gently nipping her folds before dragging his velvet cheek up the inside of her thigh. Kitty gasped and twisted on the bed, hands assaulting the sheets in lieu of Kurt's out-of-reach body. When he did the same thing to her other thigh, she swore under her breath and almost kicked him, driven half-crazy by his insistence on making her wait. She hissed another expletive when she realized he was smiling again—the bastard was _smiling_ against her thigh. At last, he applied himself properly, licking and sucking and _oh god_ she forgot about his fangs…

Kitty yanked at the sheets and thrust a hand into her own hair as a bubble of pleasure expanded in shuddering fits and then exploded in her gut and shot up her back, reaching her mouth as a breathless, angry mangle of Kurt's name. Kurt lovingly tasted her ecstasy before going back to kissing her belly, thoroughly, and devotedly, like he could spend all day between her thighs, and be happy there, making her soar again and again. Someday, she might let him. But not today.

As she twisted out of Kurt's grip, he rose to fall back on his heels. From there, he looked down at her, all-hard and half-smiling, tail pert behind his head as he deliberately worked his tongue across his lips and the edge of a fang. "Looks like you were the first to scream."

Kitty raised her right leg, and kicked him squarely in the chest. Kurt probably could have caught it, but didn't. Instead, he fell happily, smiling until he couldn't, because he was too busy catching her kisses and making increasingly hungry sounds while writhing under her weight and the wet fiction of her need against his own. They were so close. She just had to change the angle, and then he'd be inside her. Kurt Wagner would be inside her…

At the last possible moment, Kitty's sense of responsibility kicked in. "Are you…?"

Kurt grew still and the wrong kind of stiff. "I should be, but…"

The "but" made her realize—given the things they'd been keeping from their respective partners, it might not be the best time to take chances.

Kitty ground her teeth to prevent a different type of scream as she peeled herself off his body. "Fuck, Kurt… I haven't used a condom in…"

"Just… Wait. Right. Here."

Kurt bounded off the bed almost directly into a teleport. Kitty wasn't thrilled about that, but the smell had mostly dissipated by the time he reappeared a few seconds later, thankfully several feet further from the bed. At that point, she forgave him completely, the view being entirely worth it. Whatever part of her could still think beyond the present knew she'd never be able to look at Kurt in his uniform the same way again. She'd never be able to see the shape or fluid motion of his spandex-wrapped muscles and not think about how much more divine they looked as an unbroken field of shimmering indigo, made even more glorious by the spectacle of his equally indigo cock, wet and hard from her, and for her—only for her. Almost equally important was the fact he had several condoms in his right hand.

"Where did you—"

"Simon's room," he explained. Then added, "It's okay—he's in Bobby's."

"You knew that?"

"An educated guess. Which was worth the risk."

Kitty couldn't disagree. Kurt was moving back toward the bed, but a rush of passion propelled her to her feet before he got there. She smashed her hips into his and he caught her just as eagerly, his left hand seizing her ass as his right hand tossed all but one of the condoms across the room. As she fought for purchase against the slippery friction of his fur, she could feel him fumbling with it behind her back, his first real moment of clumsiness.

Kitty withdrew enough to pant, "Let me do that."

"I need more fingers," he agreed, handing over the offending package.

She managed to deal with it quickly, a major triumph in the face of Kurt's myriad distractions, his lips hot on her skin, both hands kneading her glutes. Then, finally, they were ready. It was just a matter of how.

Against her ear, Kurt purred, "Lady's choice."

Eyes flicking about the room, Kitty considered the bed, the couch, the loveseat, and the numerous plush armchairs, then said, "The desk."

Kurt signaled his appreciation with another twitch of a smile against her neck. "I had a feeling you weren't a lady."

Kitty responded by proving him right. She phased and stepped through his body, then solidified to grab his arm and haul him backwards, toward the sturdy oak writing desk. Kurt stumbled, but quickly recovered, just in time to swipe the stationary off the desk with the same motion that spun her to face it. When she dropped her forearms against the desk, he fit himself against her backside and draped every available inch of his body against every inch of hers, rubbing all his taut velvet up her shoulders, back, and thighs, lips at the nape of her neck. Kitty tried to imagine how that must feel for him, all his sensitive fur sliding across her smooth skin. Then she realized—she didn't need to imagine. She already knew the rapturous pleasure of being inside Kurt's fur, since for all intents and purposes, she was. And Kurt knew that—he must know that.

But there were still some very important inches missing. "Kurt…"

This time, he didn't make her wait. He drew back to massage her thighs and settle his hands on his hips, and then, at last, he was there—with her, in her. The wonder of it overwhelmed her for a moment, every synapse firing with the revelation that it was Kurt filling that most private part of her, that it was Kurt sliding in and out of her heat, marveling in turn at the perfect fit.

Kitty caught his tempo and coaxed it, folding herself further into the desk and flexing her legs for leverage, urging him deeper, then faster, and definitely harder, not because she was used to Peter, but because she could tell he was holding back; Kitty wanted all of him, and wanted him to know it. Kurt got the message. His right hand slapped the desk next to hers as his tail whipped forward to slap her thigh; her gasp became a groan as that animal appendage twisted down her leg and rhythmically squeezed, spade tip knocking against her ankle. She thought the next thing to slap the desk was Kurt's other hand, before realizing it was his foot. Damn, he was flexible… Kurt was remarkably quiet until he wasn't, at which point, his English failed him. He was murmuring and sighing things in German Kitty wished she could understand, vowing with passion to learn. It would be her last coherent thought for some time.

How much time, she had no idea. The concept of time dissolved along with her ability to think, everything surrendering to the rhythm of climbing, and falling, and climbing, again, and again, and again. Nothing existed save the slap and squeal of flesh, the press of velvet, and the husky tremor of a foreign voice that sounded exactly like home, especially when it finally spoke a word she understood. Her name. Kurt's version of her name. It wasn't quite a scream, but it meant the same thing. It meant they were coming home. Together.

For a while, there was nothing. Only rightness, and goodness, and then numbness—glorious, perfect numbness.

When she finally fell back to Earth, Kurt was stroking her sides and nuzzling her ears, neck, and hair, loose coils of his tail caressing her thigh. His chest was heavy on her back, but like a wave instead of a weight, all his tautness having become impossibly liquid. Kitty knew the feeling. She wasn't sure she'd be able to stand without the desk and Kurt's body holding her up. But she had to try, because her forearms were sore, and she wanted to see Kurt's face, and touch him back.

She pushed up, and Kurt let her, slipping free of her body and snapping the condom into the wastebasket before leaning back against the desk. Kitty joined him, dropping her nose against his shoulder as she ran a heavy hand down his chest, carelessly thumbing his dark nipples and stroking the spot under his pecs she'd learned he especially liked. The tip of his tail idly brushed her thigh as he leaned into her touch, much like he'd done so many times before, yet so very different.

"That was…"

"Ja…"

"Don't let it go to your head, but you are… pretty good at that."

Kurt's wonderfully loose lips formed a wonderfully lazy smile. "With the right partner, everything is easy."

If it was flattery, Kitty didn't care; it sounded true when he said it. "You're good at that, too."

"You should know by now," said Kurt, lazy smile becoming a lazy grin, "I'm a man of many talents."

Kitty rolled her eyes, not because she was annoyed, but because she was happy. It was wasn't weird anymore. Instead, it was the same as always, but better—the bliss pulsing in her gut said it was most assuredly better.

She lingered a while longer in the spell of their synchronicity, before declaring, "I need to be less vertical."

Kurt stepped away from the desk, kicked back his left foot, and performed a low bow, tail curling up as he presented his right hand. "My lady."

Kitty swallowed a laugh. She'd seen him make that gesture before; seeing him do it naked was an altogether different experience. "So I'm a lady again?"

"You always were," said Kurt, taking her hand as he straightened, and guided her back toward the bed.

Kitty dropped heavily into the mattress, but Kurt hesitated. He stood next to the bed and regarded her, head slightly tilted, his expression playful, but mysterious.

"What?" she promoted.

"You look like Cinderella," he quipped, then added, helpfully, "After the ball."

"You're making some assumptions about that garden stroll," Kitty observed, slipping her legs into the soft white sheets.

"His name is Prince _Charming_."

Kitty scoffed. "You're the one who forgot his shoes."

"At the risk of spoiling your illusions—they don't really fit."

Kitty dipped her chin to gaze up at him through her eyelashes. "I prefer you in your natural state."

There was no way to visually confirm it, but Kitty was sure Kurt blushed under his indigo fur before finally joining her in the bed. Kitty smiled inwardly, enjoying the new power she seemed to have over him. Yet a quick scan through her memories suggested it wasn't so new. Even during the days she'd still been shying away from his presence, Kurt had been willing to drop everything to please her. In the past, she'd told herself it was simply a feature of Kurt. He was a flirt and a flatterer who liked to be liked, especially by those of the female persuasion, whether romantically or platonically. But part of her had always known it was more than that. Kitty could easily conjure the aftermath of numerous missions in which Kurt had all but ignored Rachel or Ororo to head straight for her side. He rarely let himself say he'd been worried, but expressed it anyway, with a needless but welcome hand on her shoulder or arm, or a casual brush of her fingers. She'd often done the same, though she was more likely to disguise her worry by yelling or scolding him for whatever latest stunt he'd pulled, even when it had saved her life, which it often had.

Kurt twined his legs with hers under the sheets, but kept the rest of himself separate, crooking an elbow to prop up his head with his hand. Kitty met his gaze and wondered how she'd ever had trouble reading his glowing eyes; at the moment, their infectious warmth was stunningly obvious. She propped up her own head and reached up to touch the lock of blue-black hair spilling over his forehead. Kurt's eyelids flickered as she lovingly caressed it, then slowly and oh-so-gently tucked it back behind his pointed ear.

"I need a haircut," Kurt observed.

"Beg to differ."

"How long would you like it to be?"

Kitty flashed a wicked smile. "Long enough to hold onto."

Kurt chuckled soundlessly. "Well, in that case…"

"Do you like mine?" she asked, sweeping her free hand through her short locks. "I'd consider growing it, if you…"

Kurt shook his head. "It suits you. Everything does."

"I'm perfect now?"

"You're you. And that's better."

Kitty dropped her gaze, and chewed her lip. He'd developed substantial power over her, as well. "I'm gonna have to get used to this."

"What?"

"All these… compliments."

Kurt smiled, but tenderly, tail stroking her calf under the sheets. "It comes with the territory, I'm afraid."

Something about that latest reminder of his Kurt-ness brought reality all the way back into focus. She was in a honeymoon suite, in bed, naked, and reeking of sex—with Kurt. Giddiness surged from her stomach into her chest. Had she really kissed her ecstasy off his smiling lips? Had she really teased the patch of fur under his tail? Had she really asked him to take her over the desk? Had she really almost given up the possibility of all of those things, by letting Peter slip a gold band onto her finger?

Kitty collapsed back into the pillows, and released a long sigh. "God, Kurt, I almost got _married_ yesterday…"

Kurt dropped his own head into the pillow next to hers, and expelled a reciprocal sigh. "Ja…"

Kitty shot him a glance. "I didn't mean to make it weird. I mean, I know it _is_ weird, but—"

"It's not that," Kurt assured her. He was lying on his back, gazing up at the ceiling, hands folded over his midsection and the top of the sheets. "I was just… thinking."

"About…?"

"About you. In rose petals, and white lace, with a Star of David at your throat."

"It's the same one you gave me."

"I know."

They lay there for a while, listening to the rain that continued to echo dully against the picture windows draped in grey brocade.

"When did we stop doing it?" asked Kitty.

"Hm?"

" _Adventures of Robin Hood_. We used to watch it every year on my birthday. But we haven't done it in…"

"I remember watching it twice at the Lighthouse…"

"…and once at Moria's, after we moved back there."

"So… 7 years ago?" Kurt speculated.

" _Why_ did we stop?"

"You were dating Pete Wisdom."

"And you were busy with Amanda."

"Was that all it was?" He looked at her as he said it, eyes still warm, but with a hint of something else.

"I don't know," Kitty admitted. "I know I missed it, but… I didn't know how to say that. Or even if I _should_ say that."

"Maybe it was for the best," said Kurt, returning his gaze to the ceiling.

"What do you—"

"I don't think I would have… don't think I _could_ have…" He trailed off, took a breath, and tried again. "You seemed so much younger."

"Wisdom's three years older than you."

"He hasn't known you as long as I have," Kurt pointed out.

Kitty was surprised to realize she hadn't really thought about that—at least, not from his side of things. She'd spent so much time worrying—irrationally—about him treating her like a child, she'd forgotten to appreciate that at one point, she had been.

"You're right," she said. "I get it, it's just… all those years…"

"Things happen as they're meant to."

"You really believe that?"

Kurt flashed a close-lipped smile. "We're here, aren't we?"

Kitty did her best to return the gesture, but found her eyes wandering toward the chaise lounge by the window, where she'd lain her wedding dress. "And yet, we came so close to _not_ being here…"

When she returned her attention to Kurt, she found his eyes had followed hers, to study the white lace gown whose life's work had ended in failure.

"I suppose you're going to tell me I looked beautiful," said Kitty.

"You did, except…"

"What?"

"You didn't quite look like yourself." In response to her silence, he started to backtrack. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No," she said, blinking herself out of a fog. "No, that was… the right answer." And it was. In fact, it was just about perfect.

Kitty swallowed, and shifted closer to his warmth, the fingers of her right hand tracing patterns in his fur. Kurt used the back of his hand to touch the arm touching him, as entranced by her smoothness as she was by his velvet.

Softly, he said, "I've always known you were beautiful."

Kitty chose her words carefully. "I'm… not exactly your type."

"Which is…?"

"You know… long legs, big hair, and really big—"

"Not always."

"Okay…"

She felt Kurt take a deep breath, and slowly release it. "I've sometimes cared more than I should about having… certain women… look at me in certain ways."

"Okay."

"Okay?" he echoed, craning his neck to meet her close gaze.

Kitty shrugged her available shoulder. "Considering the mistake I almost made yesterday, I'm not one to talk."

There was a faraway quality to Kurt's voice when he said, "The night of the rehearsal, and again at the wedding, I kept thinking about how wrong I'd look at your side."

"You really think that?" Kitty had experienced a version of the same thought, in reverse, years ago, long before she knew what it meant. In her version, she was disappointingly ordinary in the shadow of Kurt's exotic glamour.

Kurt said, "When it comes appearing in a newspaper or the audience at a congressional hearing—yes, a little."

"There will always be idiots looking for stuff to be mad about," Kitty admitted. "And I can't predict what everyone will think. But I do know what I think. When I was standing at the altar, listening to the rabbi talk about strife, commitment, and love, I was thinking about how wrong I'd feel with Peter's ring on my finger. And how right I felt dancing with you."

Kurt was quiet. A little too quiet. Kitty raised her head from the pillow, and asked, "And this certainly felt right… didn't it?"

Kurt's eyes engulfed her own as he reached up to reverently stroke her cheek. "More right than anything I've felt since returning from heaven."

Kitty expelled a silent sigh as she bent into his touch, kissing his fingers as they passed. When he lowered his hand, she followed it down, cheek finding the crux of his neck. Kurt slipped his other hand around her back, fingers grazing her bare skin, smooth side sliding down, velvet sliding up.

After a few calming strokes, Kitty asked, "Do you remember it?"

"What—heaven?"

"Yes."

"It's strange," he replied. "At first, the memory was strong. An hour later, it was foggy. The next day, it felt like a dream. Now, it seems… less than that. I only remember a feeling, or rather, a lack of feeling. Things were… duller there. And when I came back, things felt... very bright."

"I felt like that, a little, with the space bullet thing. I don't know if I was really conscious in there. Hank says I was in some kind of fugue state—sort of like a waking coma."

The fingers on her back faltered, then resumed their rhythm. "That sounds truly awful."

"Getting back was worse. Then, I _was_ conscious, but I couldn't really feel anything. Being intangible isn't usually like that. I can usually feel _something_. When I could make myself solid again, it was sometimes overwhelming. Everything was so loud, and heavy, and hard. For weeks, even though I didn't have to, I spent most of my time intangible, just to escape."

"For me, it was the opposite. I wanted to feel everything—it was all I could think about."

"No wonder you shacked up with Bloody Bess…"

Kurt seemed to grow very still. Kitty wasn't sure if he'd known she knew about Bess, though it was hardly a secret. Until recently, he'd actually had a photograph of her in his quarters—specifically, a photograph of her pressed against his chest in a revealing cocktail dress, his arm around her waist and his tail around her leg.

Finally, he said, "That's not… untrue. But, I want you to know—even though I flirt more than I should, I don't usually do that."

"What—have sex with intergalactic bounty hunters?"

"I meant—sleep with someone outside of a relationship."

"It's none of my business."

"It sort of is."

He was right, of course. Kitty sighed. "I wasn't really worried about you sleeping around."

"Me neither, although…"

"Peter's cheated on me before," she supplied.

"I was actually thinking of a time it happened to me. I trusted someone, who trusted someone else they shouldn't have, and there were… consequences. Nothing long-term—I would have told you. But since then, I'm more careful."

"Was it… Amanda?"

"I had to go to Moira to get it treated," Kurt confirmed. "It was… awkward."

"Why didn't I know about this?"

"Because you were 17, and I was your boss…?"

"I guess…" she admitted. "So when exactly—"

"A couple of months after Amanda joined Excalibur."

"Then you were still with her after that."

"Ja," he sighed. "I know."

"That must have been hell under spandex."

Kurt's breath sputtered into a chuckle. "It wasn't ideal. Thankfully, we heal faster in that area, too."

"Good to know."

"I doubt you have to worry about that."

"Why's that?"

"Are you really fishing for a romantic line about sexually transmitted diseases?"

"I heard you were a man of many talents."

Kurt shifted under her body, enough to catch her eyes. "You don't have to worry, because now, and tomorrow, and for as long as you'll have me, I have no intention of being with anyone else."

A swell of warmth in her chest became a crooked smile. Kurt really was good at that. "Might be a long time."

"It's already been a long time," he observed. "And I'm not sick of you yet."

Kitty blinked back a different rush of emotion as she pressed a kiss into Kurt's neck, before shifting her cheek to his chest. She could have fallen asleep there, in the same place she'd woken up, except naked, stickier, and happier. But she wasn't quite ready. The responsible corner of her brain was still making too many distracting noises.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

"Anything."

"I don't think I want to get married."

"I haven't exactly proposed yet…"

"I mean ever. To anyone."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Is that the wrong answer?"

"I know getting married is important to you."

"Being with the right person is important to me."

It was a nice line, but Kitty wished he'd chosen a different one. "I really don't want to ask you about Rachel. But now I kinda feel like I have to..."

Kurt's hand settled into the hollow of her back. "It's okay. You have a right to ask. I've loved Rachel, as family, for many years. When she kissed me, I was surprised, to say the least. Shocked is more like it. I wasn't going to pursue it, until…"

"What?"

"Until I almost died, and then… didn't. Part of me knew it was a mistake. But there was another part…"

"You didn't want to be alone."

"I wouldn't have chosen those exact words, but—yes."

Kitty closed her eyes against his chest, remembering one of her own mistakes. "I first kissed Bobby right after the Brood pregnancy thing. I mean— _right_ after. I never really thought I was pregnant. I knew I _couldn't_ be, on a practical level. But at first, there was this tiny grain of doubt… And I was terrified. I mean—really terrified. And I wondered what that said about me, to be that scared about something most people think is normal, even _exciting_. Then, when it was over—I kissed Bobby."

"There's no shame in seeking comfort when we need it."

"Except when people get hurt." She regretted the words as soon as she said them. Then she decided, since she'd already spoiled the moment, she may as well press on. "This is probably as good a time as any to tell you I don't think I want kids, either."

"I used to think I did," said Kurt. "But with each year that passes, I have a harder time picturing it. If I'm being completely honest—I can't see myself stopping."

"Stopping… what?"

"This. The X-Men. Running all over the world, and a hundred other words… taking crazy risks, fighting, violence... I've tried to quit—many times. But I always come back. Even dying couldn't keep me away."

"I can't imagine you working in a bank," Kitty agreed. "But I also can't believe you enjoy violence. Not really."

"Yet when offered a peaceful eternity, I didn't just fall back into this life—I _jumped_."

"Maybe it's more than the fighting that keeps you coming back."

"Maybe."

"Or maybe—it's fighting for something you believe in."

Kurt didn't say anything, but the rhythm of his hand changed again, fingers weaving thoughtfully up her spine.

Wanting to see his face, Kitty raised herself off his chest, and shifted onto her side. Kurt followed her, resting a hand on the sheets covering her hip.

Kitty said, "You were my first call when I was forming the new team—you know that, right?"

"I said yes before you finished asking," Kurt recalled.

"Yeah, it was kinda rude. I had a speech prepared, and everything."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So—let's hear it."

"Are you serious?"

A welcome smile climbed up the left side of Kurt's mouth. "It would be a shame if all your hard work went to waste."

Kitty scrunched her eyes shut, took a long breath, and said, "Kurt—I know we haven't seen each other much since you came back. I was mad at Logan, and then I was in space, and then I just kinda did nothing for a month, because I couldn't remember the last time I did that. It sucked. So, I spent some time trying to remember something that didn't suck. And you know what I thought of? Excalibur. How it felt like the end of the world, but it wasn't, because you were there, and I was there, and together, we're pretty awesome."

Kurt waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he prompted, "That's it?"

Kitty opened her eyes to look at him. "There might have been more stuff about saving the world, and preserving mutant rights—but yeah, basically."

"Do we get matching outfits?"

"No. But I've worked out a contract with the city that's going to let us buy into the municipal pension fund."

"Sounds sexy."

"She-Hulk helped negotiate it, so…"

"Will I be using swords? More importantly—will you be using swords?"

"The first is up to you, the second depends on if we travel to Limbo, or Medieval times, or a pirate planet."

"How many pirate planets do you anticipate, per year, on average?"

"One…?"

Kurt pretended to hesitate, prompting Kitty to perform a dramatic eye roll. "Fine—one pirate planet, one pirate-themed Danger Room session per quarter, and 10% off the initial buy-in for the pension fund."

"Sweet talker," he teased, smile exposing a single fang.

"Well?"

"You had me at 'Kurt.'"

"Just like the first time."

"No," he said, hand curving over her thigh. "It's better."

With sudden conviction, Kitty said, "I want to keep doing it."

"Me too."

"How are we going to keep doing it?"

"As usual," Kurt replied, "I haven't thought that far ahead. But I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Kitty frowned. "Why is that my job?"

"Because you're the boss. And a genius. And because I'd follow you anywhere."

That mollified her somewhat. Truth be told, she was already planning, and had been for some time. "I'll work on it," she promised. She laid her right hand on his heart, and added, "We're going to fix this, too."

Kurt glanced down at her hand. "I don't know if it's possible to fix it, Katzchen."

"Since when has impossible stopped us?"

He looked at her with an expression she'd seen before, like he was seeing her, and imagining her, but in the right way—observing the person she was, and the person she'd like to be, and could sometimes believe she was.

After a moment, he said, "In the meantime, I have some short-term goals to run by you."

"Such as?"

"Having a shower. And inviting you to join me."

Kitty cocked an eyebrow. "Do I get a speech?"

"You get to find out what my fur feels like when it's wet as well as warm."

"That sounds…" she was going to make a joke about the smell of wet fur, until she realized, "That actually sounds amazing."

"I know." He smiled as he watched her try not to, entirely too pleased with himself.

With an effort, Kitty peeled her hand off his chest. "But—there's something I have to do, first."

"Something I can help with?"

Kitty shook her head. "No. But it's fine. I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Don't be long."

He teased her with a shallow but sensual kiss, tugging lingeringly on her bottom lip. It was still helplessly dangling when Kurt stepped out of the bed and onto his weightless feet, and remained that way as she watched all his indigo glory sashay toward the bathroom. It wasn't until he disappeared around the corner that Kitty was able to properly close her mouth, and remember what she needed to do.

She shuffled to the edge of the bed, took a steadying breath, and retrieved her phone from the nightstand. Summoning all her willpower, she ignored the many unread message notifications, and started writing a new one. There were so many people who deserved apologies. But she had to start somewhere.

_Hi mom—_

_I know we need to talk, and we will. For now, I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. I feel sick about what I put everyone through. But I'm also really happy, because I think I finally made the right choice. Pretty sure you'll be happy, too. (When you stop being hurt, mad, and disappointed—have I mentioned how sorry I am?)_

_< 3 Kitty_

As she replaced the phone on the nightstand, yet another new message popped up. It was a reply.

_How about dinner next Saturday?_

There was a moment's pause, and then a follow up.

_Invite Kurt._

At a loss, Kitty responded with a thoroughly inadequate thumb's up emoji, and slid her phone safely out of reach.

She heard the shower start in the bathroom, competing with the rain. After indulging another moment of giddiness, Kitty stood up, and followed the sound.

When she slid open the shower door, she was greeted by a view of Kurt's backside, tail low around his ankles, water snaking through his fur and the shifting muscles in his back as he reached up to smooth his wet hair down his neck. His fur was nearly as dark as the black granite walls, but gleamed brightest everywhere it was darkest, because that's where the water went, weaving its way into every crease of bone and flesh, and even down his tail; there was water dripping off the spade, which Kurt flicked toward the wall as he lowered his arms, and turned to face her.

"Hi."

"Hi, she replied. She was trying very hard to remain focused on his eyes, and not remotely succeeding.

"Do you want to join me?" He smiled as he said it, the slightly lopsided smile he saved just for her, enjoying her gaze, and favoring her with his own.

Kitty gave in, and looked at him in earnest, eyes wandering over his water-slick body, so hard, lean, and fluid, all of him graceful, unique, and beautiful. Her mind flashed back to those first months, wondering, in a way she'd never truly done, about what had actually scared her. Maybe, after all, it had been that—not his demonic-ness, but his beauty, and what that beauty meant. It meant the world wasn't the way she'd thought, and that it needed to change, to let such glories thrive. And suddenly, she knew exactly what to do—now, and tomorrow.

Kitty met Kurt's gaze, stepped into the water, and said, "I do."

She didn't regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They made it! But this isn't quite the end. I have a little epilogue planned, but need some time to mull it over, and figured—since we could all use some love about now, I might as well get this out there sooner rather than later. I know fanfic isn't going to save the world, but a little escape can't hurt, right? *hugs*
> 
> No canon things in this chapter that haven't been mentioned previously, I don't think…? This was mostly callbacks to previous chapters. The story is eating itself at this point! :P
> 
> Epilogue later this week! (I hope!)


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we check in with our lovers, a few months down the line. Wonder what they've been up to? :)

**Epilogue**

Kurt was looking at himself in the mirror. At least, he supposed it must have been him. That was certainly his indigo fur, and those were definitely his pointed ears and glowing golden eyes, bouncing off the glass as they always did, and ever-so-slightly blurring his own vision of himself. It was the setting that introduced doubt. Before he'd become an X-Man, Kurt had been a performer—a trapeze artist with considerable flair for the dramatic, aided by mutant gifts that virtually guaranteed he'd never fall. Back then, his dressing room had been a lamp-lit wagon strewn with sequins and spandex, which he'd shared with two other trapeze artists and a fire eater. The dressing room in which he currently found himself was another species entirely. There were brilliant white lights surrounding every enormous mirror, thick carpets layered across a burnished hardwood floor, at least five different pieces of plush leather furniture, a well-stocked bar cart, and an equally diverse assortment of delicious, healthy, and dubiously healthy snacks, from fresh fruit to supposedly keto-friendly brownies.

There was also a seemingly endless supply of assistants—production assistants, wardrobe assistants, catering assistants, and assistants who buzzed in and out so quickly, he remained unclear of their function. Every minute, it seemed, there'd be another knock on the door, which would open before he'd fully agreed it was okay to enter, disgorging yet another young man or woman with a headset and clipboard or a useless tray of makeup. They'd yet to invent cosmetics that worked with his unique color or texture. That hadn't been an inconvenience in his life until recently, when he'd started encountering makeup artists who seemed to treat the issue as an affront to their profession.

As if on cue, the door reverberated with a fresh trill of knocking.

"Come—"

"Makeup call, Mr. Wagner."

Kurt sighed, staring longingly at the glass of very expensive Japanese whiskey on the counter in front of him he hadn't yet managed to sip. Twenty minutes before, he hadn't particularly wanted the drink; it mostly existed because the idea of it conjured a fond memory, and because he'd been trying to humor the insistently helpful catering assistant. But it was steadily becoming more appetizing.

He'd just opened his mouth to try and dissuade the eager makeup artist, when another voice swooped in to save him.

"I don't think he needs it."

Kitty was standing in the doorway, striking a compelling pose in a form-fitting, emerald green sheath dress paired with shiny black pumps equipped with short but nicely pointed heels. She met his gaze as she added, "Pretty hard to improve on perfection."

The makeup artist, a young woman wearing dramatically winged black eyeliner and a very high ponytail, chewed her lip as she glanced quickly from Kitty, to Kurt, and back to Kitty. Then she dropped her chin, and shuffled quickly out of the room, mumbling an apology as she went. Kurt watched her go with a pang of guilt; she was just doing her job, after all.

Kitty read his thoughts. "She'll be fine."

"I know," he agreed. "And I am grateful. As well as impressed."

Kitty cocked a questioning eyebrow as she stepped into the room and made her way to his side. "With my effortless command of the production assistants?"

Kurt followed her deliberate progress with an equally deliberate gaze. "That was a makeup artist, and I was actually thinking about your effortless command of that compliment."

"I've been hanging around you too much."

"Or—just the right amount."

As Kurt leaned toward her warmth, Kitty bushed past his hip, and made a slow circle of his body. "Speaking of—this is a nice suit."

It was a nice suit—a slim fit, single-buttoned affair, rendered in blue-grey sharkskin with a hint of silver. And through no effort of his own, it fit every part of him perfectly.

"It was waiting for me when I got here," Kurt explained, humoring her roving eyes. "Hugo Boss apparently wants me to become a 'brand ambassador.'"

"And it was already customized? How did they know where to put—"

"I don't want to know."

"Fair enough." Kitty stopped in front of him, casting a critical eye at his exposed collarbone. "Did it come with a tie?"

"Yes," he replied, the smile he saved just for her creeping up the left side of his mouth.

Kitty rolled her eyes above a helplessly reciprocal smile. "You're the worst."

"I've been hanging around you too much."

An instant before their lips met, a young man with a beard, an asymmetrical haircut, and the ever-present headset and clipboard poked his head into the room to declare, "Ms. Pryde, Mr. Wagner—five minutes to set."

"That's _Dr._ Pryde," Kitty corrected. "And we'll be right there. There's something I need to finish first."

Kurt was watching the man duck out of the room when Kitty seized his neck, and pulled his face down to hers. He recovered his focus in time to sigh into her mouth, hands enjoying the hard shape of her hips as his tail brushed her bare calf. When they parted, he felt the thud of her pulse, beating in concert with his.

"You've ruined your lipstick," he observed, entirely without conviction; he much preferred the way it looked smudged by his kiss.

"I wanted the makeup artist to feel useful," Kitty replied, her voice deliciously husky.

Kurt's smile crept the rest of the way up his face, and broke into a grin. "You're always two steps ahead, aren't you?"

 _"_ I won't be, if we don't make it to set on time."

Kurt dutifully released her, and extended his right hand. "After you, my lady."

"No," she said, taking his hand in hers. "We'll go together."

Kurt acknowledged the gesture with a subtler smile and a stroke of her hand. Kitty never took it lightly; she knew, for all their mutual joking and bravado, that going in front of the cameras was never easy.

As they walked hand-in-hand down the narrow, cinder block-lined hallway toward the set, Kurt reflected on the whirlwind publicity tour that had been occupying much of their free time for the past three months. When Kitty has first proposed it, he'd assumed she was joking. In fact, he'd been sure of it; the idea of appearing on television, as a representative of the mutant cause, and as the boyfriend of the leader of that cause, had struck him as utterly ludicrous. But Kitty had a way of making the impossible seem less so. It wouldn't be news programs, she'd explained. Instead, it would be daytime talk shows and the occasional late-night program, the kinds of places that would guarantee softball questions, and focus on personality over politics. Because that's what they'd be selling—they'd be promoting the cause by promoting themselves, winning minds by winning hearts. Kurt had too much experience with the unpredictability of crowds to be properly convinced. But because he trusted Kitty and was willing to follow her anywhere, he'd agreed to give it a try.

Their first appearance had been on a regional morning show filmed in front of a modest studio audience. When Kitty had asked if he was nervous, he'd lied to her for the first time since their awful fight in the North Salem town square, smiling with all his teeth and declaring it would take more than fifteen minutes of idle chit-chat in front of a crowd who was mostly there for the makeup tutorials and food samples to get the better of a full-fledged superhero like himself. In truth, he'd been terrified, held upright solely by adrenaline and his determination not to let Kitty down. Kitty had held his hand that time, too, suggesting she hadn't believed his lie. Kurt had tried to release her hand when they'd been beckoned on stage, but Kitty had held on; they'd walked onto the set that way, an obvious and unashamed couple.

Luckily, the audience had also been edgy; that had made them easy targets for Kurt's adrenaline-fueled charm offensive. The first smiles and twitters of empathetic laughter had been nervous. But they quickly became genuine. In a way, the audience had been laughing at themselves—at their ridiculous assumption that the blue demon sitting on the pea green sofa with his ankle casually folded over his knee, flashing winning smiles in between self-deprecating jokes and flattery of the program's middle-aged host, could have been there to steal their souls, when he was so obviously there to steal their hearts. But where Kurt had made them smile, Kitty had made them melt, and she'd done it by telling a story that was old to them, and new to everyone else. When the host had asked about their joined hands, Kitty had related the story of their relationship—how she'd gone from fearing him, to becoming a best friend, and finally his partner, in work as well as in love. She hadn't shied away from the fact they'd been involved with other people when their romance first ignited. An audience raised on tabloid scandals hadn't seemed to mind; if anything, it melted them more. When the interviewer had asked Kurt to recall the moment he'd realized his forbidden love for his longtime friend and teammate, he'd sought out the stabilizing force of his lover's gaze, and told the truth, declaring, "I knew it the first time we danced." The audience had audibly swooned, and not from fear or disgust. When Kurt had punctuated his honest words by raising Kitty's hand to his lips and reverently kissing it, the host had actually squealed, and pressed a hand to her chest. Afterwards, and for the first time since his circus days, Kurt had found himself signing autographs. But the adoring public hadn't just wanted his signature. They'd wanted his _and_ Kitty's—together.

From there, things had accelerated rapidly. They'd been invited on other shows, and then bigger ones, easily making the jump from cable to network television, which in turn packaged everything into easily digestible clips that reached many more millions of viewers via social media. Sometimes, they were merely expected to talk—about the more appealing parts of their pasts, or the more exciting parts of their day-to-day lives. Other times, they were asked to do more. In the past month, Kurt had given dancing lessons on _Ellen_ , Kitty had performed impressively explosive science experiments on _The Today Show_ , and they'd both demonstrated swordplay on _The Tonight Show._ Everywhere they went, they went together. That's how bookers wanted him. They were, according to their agent, quickly becoming a "power couple"—liked individually, but better together. The tabloids had even given their coupledom a name—Kurtty.

They rarely talked about politics. But there were signs they were making an impact, nonetheless. Public support was waning for Nance's anti-mutant bill, and congress was said to be feeling the heat. News pundits were openly discussing the "Kurtty factor" as a possible explanation for the shift. Apparently, reminding the public that mutants were humans, too, with lives, loves, and skills not directly related to causing city or planet-wide mayhem, was enough to make legislation denying their basic rights considerably less appealing. That shift in perception wouldn't be enough to change the world; Kitty wasn't naïve enough to believe that, and neither was Kurt. But it was a start. And the mutant cause was badly in need of a fresh start.

Standing in the wings of the current nationally syndicated late-night show, Kurt's gaze surveyed an audience several times larger than the one they'd first encountered before settling on the large digital clock above the stage, counting down the commercial break.

"Here we go again," he intoned.

"Are you ready?" Kitty corralled his gaze, her expression serious. She always did that—always gave him a last chance to back out, if things didn't feel right.

"No," he replied, summoning a reassuring smile. "But when has that ever stopped me, with you at my side?"

Kitty scoffed. "You've never needed my encouragement to dive off the highest platform under the big top."

"Maybe. But I've always preferred performing with a partner."

Pink warmth blossomed on Kitty's cheeks as she smiled—subtly, but perfectly. Kurt tempered an intense desire to run away with her by remembering he'd have the privilege of going home with her—just like every other day of the past three months, ever since their first full night needfully tangled in each other's arms.

From the stage, a voice announced, "You know her as the leader of the X-Men. You know him as her swashbuckling boyfriend with the nice smile and nicer tail. Please welcome—Kitty Pryde and Kurt Wagner!"

Before Kurt could decide whether to be amused, flattered, or embarrassed, a spotlight was thrust into their faces, and they were walking onstage, smiling and waving to a loudly applauding audience, still hand-in-hand.

…

Later, Kurt was reclining on one of the plush leather sofas in his dressing room. He had Kitty in one arm and a freshly poured glass of whiskey in the other, which he still couldn't convince himself to drink; the taste of Kitty's neck was far more appealing. Before long, he'd abandoned the drink to hold her with both hands, enjoying the way her back and shoulders sank deeper into his chest as she placed all her weight and trust in his supporting arm.

"I can't believe you told them about the time the Technet blew up the Lighthouse's only bathroom," said Kitty.

"After that introduction," Kurt replied, "I felt obligated to take the low road. And Brian breaking my leg the same day makes for a perfect punchline."

" _Literally_. The crowd was certainly there for it. I think that might have been our warmest welcome yet."

As he began to agree, Kurt was suddenly struck by the strangeness of a scene whose constituent parts were simultaneously familiar and disarmingly new. That included the luxurious dressing room, the adoring audience, and especially the perfect shape of Kitty Pryde, sprawled across his chest and thoughtlessly playing with his fingers.

In a voice that sounded faraway to his own ears, he asked, "How did you know it would work?"

Kitty shrugged against his body. "We'd tried everything else."

Kurt tried to accept her answer, but didn't quite succeed. Sensing his unease, Kitty shifted to meet his gaze. "Do you know how many times you'd appeared on television, in street clothes, and not in a disaster zone, before this publicity tour started?"

"I try not to Google myself…"

"Then I'll help you—the answer is zero."

Kurt took a moment to flip through his memories. "That sounds…"

"You think I don't do my homework?" Kitty challenged.

"I'm _sure_ you do. I'm just… surprised."

"So was I," she admitted, settling back into his chest. "Which is why I knew it would work."

"I don't—"

"People like you, okay? And you like making people like you. You're _good_ at making people like you. It's basically another superpower."

Kurt considered her words. They weren't inconsistent with his own view of himself; he'd always prided himself on his charm. But he wasn't sure how he felt about Kitty sharing that view. Flatly, he said, "I'm not always like that."

Kitty pulled back further, enough to regard him squarely. She laid a hand on his heart as she said, "I know, Kurt. I really, definitely know."

Kurt looked down at her hand, touching a place that sometimes felt cold, but never with her—not since he'd showed her that missing piece, and been told it didn't change anything. It wasn't the first time he'd wondered what he could possibly have done to be worthy of being loved by such a woman. He'd sacrificed his soul to save the afterlife, but that still didn't seem like enough.

"Danke."

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

"You make it easy." As he raised his eyes to hers, she added, "You always have."

He might have kissed her. He wanted to, but preferred to wait until she came to him. Kitty considered it, then turned her attention to his abandoned drink. She lifted it to her lips and took an experimental sip. "Wow, that is… actually amazing."

"Good to know," Kurt replied, enjoying the way the alcohol glittered on her lower lip. "Whiskey isn't really my thing."

"Then why did you pour yourself—" She glanced at the abandoned drink on the counter near the largest mirror. "Two glasses?"

"It reminded me of you."

Kitty studied his face, not because she doubted his words, but because she didn't. After a moment, she reached for the bar cart, correctly identified the bottle of Yamazaki, and poured a third glass, which she slid down the coffee table toward him.

"You haven't lost a step," Kurt teased, lifting the proffered glass.

Kitty raised her own glass and said, "To your impending Hugo Boss campaign. Or _Tiger Beat_ cover. Whichever comes first."

Kurt stifled a laugh as he dutifully clinked her glass, and finally tasted the whiskey. It was good—smooth with the sharpness coming later, a pleasant heat surging in his chest. Yet contemplating the drink introduced a subsequent chill, in the form of a mutual silence. When they settled back into the couch, they sat close, but apart, both of them lost in thought. Kurt wondered if Kitty was thinking about the same thing he was. He hoped not, while knowing she would be, as soon as he voiced the question he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Have you heard from Rachel?"

Kitty took a long breath, and released it. "I had a subspace message from her last week. She sounded… you know… fine…"

"Do you think she'll come back?"

"Maybe," Kitty replied, eyes lost in her drink. "When she's ready."

Kurt nodded absently, and sipped his own drink. Shortly after the wedding-that-wasn't, Rachel had gone back to space with the Starjammers. She hadn't said goodbye. Kurt made a point of not pestering Kitty with questions about the teammate-turned-friend-turned-lover-turned-ex whose trust he'd so terribly betrayed, not wanting her to fall any further under the shadow of his own guilt. But he did need to know Rachel was out there, somewhere, and prayed she was finding the happiness she deserved.

"I don't suppose you've heard from Peter."

Kurt glanced at her, but she was avoiding his eyes. "He hasn't talked to me since... Well—you know what happened. But he occasionally talks to Ororo. And Ororo talks to me."

"And?"

"I don't think he's coming back anytime soon, either."

They each took a long sip of their drinks. Once the initial shock of them dramatically leaving their significant others to be with each other had worn off, most of their friends had either embraced or expressed apathy about both their relationship and their publicity tour. But Kurt wasn't sure if either of their former lovers—one of them half a world away, the other many worlds away—was aware of it, and could only guess what they'd make of it if they were. He worried more about Peter's reaction than Rachel's. Peter, who had a distaste at the best of times for what he called the "decadent American media," would likely hate the spectacle of it all. Kurt was also quite sure Peter was still in love with Kitty, which made things worse. He didn't think Rachel was still in love with him; sometimes, he wondered if she ever really was.

He studied Kitty's profile, focusing on the faraway hazel eyes that were still lost in the drink she seemed to have forgotten she was holding. His desire to run away with her returned with a vengeance. Kitty could handle the weight of the world; but she didn't need to carry it alone.

"Katzchen."

"Hm?"

"What would you do, right this moment, if you could to do anything at all?"

Kitty finished her drink, clanked the empty glass onto the coffee table, and said, "I'd go back to that very nice hotel room the network was kind enough to spring for."

Kurt offered a close-lipped smile. Kitty's dreams would, of course, be practical. "I'm quite sure that can be arranged."

"Then I want to have a shower."

"Okay…"

"And then I want to have dinner."

"Of course."

"And then I want to go dancing."

That suggestion gave him pause. "Are you serious?"

Kitty reached deep into the collar of her dress and pulled out a small antique white envelope. With a quizzical look, Kurt accepted it, and withdrew two slips of cardstock, embossed with black and gold printing.

"You are cordially invited," he read off the card, "to the _Daily Bugle_ Charity Gala celebrating a century of journalistic integrity." He lowered the card to look at her. "This sounds exactly like a trap."

"That's what I thought," Kitty replied. "But I checked it out. I even had our _psychics_ check it out. Seems legit."

Kurt flexed his jaw as he handed back the card, still unconvinced.

"We've been on this goodwill tour for a reason," said Kitty. "So that people get used to us. And we can go out and do the kinds of things regular people do."

"This isn't something regular people do," Kurt pointed out. "This is something regular _celebrities_ do."

"Tony Stark will be there. Johnny Storm will be there. Danny Rand will be there. Freakin' _J. Jonah Jameson_ will be there—why not us?"

Kurt made a face. "Johnny Storm will be there?"

"We don't have to talk to him," Kitty promised.

Kurt looked from one side of the room to the other, buying time to formulate more excuses. "The tabloids will photograph us."

"And learn… what? That you're a really good dancer, who loves his girlfriend, and looks great in Hugo Boss?"

His defenses were weakening, as they always did when Kitty gave him that look—the one where her lips were fighting the smile in her eyes.

"Dangerous things tend to happen when we dance together," he observed.

"I'm counting on it." Her smile was breaking through now, crookedly, and irresistibly.

He lost himself in her hazel eyes a moment before she fell back into his chest, face first this time, sending him tumbling into the arm of the sofa. His lips caught hers as his hands and tail caught her backside, his whole body sighing under her perfect shape and wonderful weight. She was wriggling deeper into his hips and sliding two deliciously heavy hands down his ribs under his jacket when something that definitely wasn't her flesh started humming under her dress.

Between kisses, Kurt noted, "Your… ahem… chest seems to be ringing…"

Kitty expelled a hiss of frustration as she peeled herself part of the way off his body and slid a smartphone out of her bra. Kurt chuckled silently as she answered it, wondering exactly how many things she was keeping in there.

"Hi mom. Yes, we just finished. It'll be on tonight… Yeah, 11:30… I know, it _is_ weird how they tape late shows in the afternoon…"

Because she was still half-sprawled on his chest, and because he couldn't help himself, Kurt exploited the opportunity to distract her, trailing the backs of his fingers along the fine architecture her exposed collarbone, over her Star of David necklace, and up her neck. Kitty bit and chewed her lips, but did nothing to make him stop.

"Yes, he's here… Sure, I'll ask him." She removed the phone from her ear and covered the speaker with her hand. "My mom wants to know if you're coming over for dinner next weekend."

"Tell Mrs. Pryde I wouldn't miss it for the world," Kurt replied, watching his fingers tangling in the soft waves of her bobbed hair. "Unless the fate of the world is actually at stake. In which case I will almost certainly miss it."

Kitty rolled her eyes as she returned the phone to her ear. "He says… Oh, you heard that, huh? Yes, I'll tell him." Rolling her eyes back toward Kurt, she said, "My mom says she's told you a hundred times to call her Teresa."

"Tell Mrs. Pryde I'll think about it," said Kurt, lips ticking Kitty's jaw as his tail teased her backside.

Kitty's eyelids fluttered, her hand clenching tighter around the phone. She was taking slow, careful breaths while doing her best to finish the conversation with noises rather than words. "Uh huh… Yep… Uh… Right, sure. See you then—bye!"

The phone thudded to the floor as Kitty seized Kurt's collar and kissed him—roughly, and thoroughly. Kurt gathered her weight back into his body, until he was lost in the scent, taste, and feel of her, her body hard where it mattered and just the right amount of soft against his chest and under the hands that curved around her glutes, which were twisting and flexing into his pelvis. Her vanilla-scented hair was struck to his lips and he didn't care, couldn't care. His whole world was the tongue searching for his fangs and the hands sneaking under his shirt to scratch and stroke his fur. Kitty didn't need telepathy to know exactly where he liked to be touched, and how.

With an effort, Kitty pulled back to declare, breathlessly, "We need to not be here."

Kurt heartily agreed. It was a miracle they hadn't already been interrupted. He planted one foot on the floor and used his hands and tail to half-lift, half-pull them both upright, spinning Kitty backwards on his hip. She landed gracefully, her footwork flawless. Kurt smiled to himself. She'd been a quick study the first time they'd danced; the second time was destined to be infinitely better.

Without warning, Kitty dropped backwards. He adjusted his grip let her, watching with interest as her spine arched all the way back, until her fingers brushed the bar cart, and closed around the neck of a particular bottle. When she curved back into his hips, she slung her arms around his neck, thudding the Yamazaki against his shoulder blades.

"They won't let you leave with that," Kurt observed.

"They will if we take the express."

Her request did something warm and pleasant to the part of his stomach pressed tightly against hers. He did so love a woman requesting his talents, especially when that woman was Kitty Pryde.

A split-second before they teleported, Kitty pushed off his chest, and ducked to collect her phone. Kurt would have been upset with her uncharacteristic recklessness, if he hadn't been completely disarmed by the unique spectacle of her beauty. He was sure he'd never loved her more than at that moment, barefoot in her emerald green dress, hair mussed, lipstick hopelessly smudged, smiling her crooked, close-lipped smile with a bottle of Japanese whiskey dangling from her left hand, while her right hand busied itself tucking her cell phone back into her bra.

Kurt said, "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look exploiting my powers to help you commit petty larceny?"

"If you did," Kitty replied, stepping closer, "I'd remember."

"You do," Kurt said, slipping both hands into the small of her back. "And I am."

The weight of Kitty and the mostly-full bottle of whiskey were hanging from his neck as they kissed, and disappeared.

In the following days, their appearance at the Gala made it into several tabloids and gossip columns. Some tried to make hay of Tony Stark's seemingly forced bemusement when his date had requested a dance with Kurt. Others accused them of hypocrisy for taking an evening off when they should have been somewhere else, doing some unspecified nobler thing. Kurt had learned to ignore such stories. But there was one photograph, which appeared in the society page in the weekend edition of the _Times_ , that he chose to keep. It featured him dancing with Kitty. He was holding her with one hand as he dipped her, so low her short hair almost brushed the teakwood tiles. Behind them, two very human, very old money couples were visibly frowning. But he and Kitty were determinedly oblivious. Her eyes were closed, lips parted in thoughtless joy, and he was focused entirely on her, smiling softly as he caught and balanced her weight, his golden eyes feasting on her radiance. He liked the caption as much as the photo. It read, "Something Old, Something New."

**~END~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's the end! We finally, really made it! I think we all deserve to celebrate, since I thought this story would be less than half this long and get written in a few weeks (at most). And then it sprawled into a months-long epic—just like an actual comic book storyline! :P
> 
> There was a smattering of inspirations for this epilogue, especially X-Men: The End, which has Kurt becoming an actor after he retires from the X-Men, and Age of X-Man: The Amazing Nightcrawler, in which he also becomes an actor (and "the most famous mutant in the world"). Basically: there's precedent for Kurt's charm being the basis of a second career. And Kitty's smart enough to see that potential, having experienced said charm first-hand :) I don't think either of them would do this without the other, but together, they're irresistible! The thing with the Technet and Brian breaking Kurt's leg happens in Excalibur #43. I don't know why I singled out Johnny Storm. I don't dislike him at all, but his personality is kind of "Spider-Man but a jerk," so... ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this final silly wrap-up, and the story as a whole! I'm probably going to take a fanfic writing break for a bit; this one took a lot out of me. But I may continue shining up and re-posting some old fics in the meantime—stay tuned!


End file.
